


An Angel's Funeral

by call_it_a_miracle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 13, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, Family Feels, Heavy Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2020-03-17 10:16:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 49,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18963226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/call_it_a_miracle/pseuds/call_it_a_miracle
Summary: What would've happened if Mary came back before Castiel did?Heavy Season 13 Spoilers





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my desktop for over a year and i can't belive i'm finally posting it. I had an incredible beta help me with the first couple of chapters but i have since lost contact with them so if you're reading this please contact me so i can give you proper credit! Anyways, i'll be updating once a week so i have time to finish the last few chapters. Enjoy! Your comments are greatly appreciated!!

“I just need a win… I just need a damn win.”

The whole drive back to the bunker from the Meadows’ house was silent. Sam kept throwing not-so-subtle glances at Dean, but thankfully the taller man’s exhaustion was too much and soon enough he was snoring on the passenger seat. Dean kept his gaze trained on the road before him, his hands clutching the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip.

He busied himself with burying his thoughts as deep as they would go while the rumble of Baby’s engine — and Sam’s annoyingly loud snores — kept him grounded. The intrusive thoughts fought against him to the point where he had to force what little energy he had left to keep himself breathing. At one point, his body seemed to move on its own and the car was swiftly pulled over in the middle of nowhere. All Dean could do was stare at the line of drool in the corner of Sam’s mouth until the impulse to just crash the car into a divider dissipated.

After what felt like both an eternity and a couple blinks of his tired eyes, he was pulling up in the bunker’s garage. He killed the engine and immediately slapped a hand on Sam’s chest, startling him back into consciousness.

“What?!” Sam mumbled in alarm, his long limbs flailing in the tight space.

“We’re back,” was all Dean said before shuffling out of the car in a beeline to his room.

_’We’re back’_. Not _’we’re home’_. 

These days, the bunker feels more like a prison full of memories than a real home. Everywhere he turns he sees an echo left by someone he loves, someone he considers family. But his family is mostly gone, just like himself.

He locks the door behind him, ignoring Jack’s calls. The kid is the last thing Dean wants to see right now. He reaches under his bed where he keeps his secret stash of whiskey and downs half a bottle in one go. Tears build up in the corners of his eyes and he tells himself the alcohol burn in his throat is responsible. His knees give out and he crumples onto the bed. A few drops of alcohol pool on the rugged sheets but he can’t bring himself to care. Nothing matters anymore, other than getting blackout drunk as fast as possible. He takes another gulp of whiskey and finally sets the bottle on the bedside table as his body starts feeling heavier and heavier.

Meanwhile, Sam sits with Jack in the library.

“Is Dean ok?” Jack asks, his head peeking out from behind Sam’s laptop.

Sam sighs, leaning back on the chair as he takes another big gulp of beer. “No.”

Jack hesitates for a few seconds before speaking again. “Are you ok?”

“No.”

They sit in silence after that. Jack types away furiously, his eyes glued to the bright screen. He had a deep frown on his face which should’ve worried Sam, but the hunter is too tired and generally **done** to care much at the moment.

After almost an hour, Jack speaks up again.

“I found a case. A hunter’s case.”

Sam looks up from the spot on the floor he’d been eyeing for the past few minutes. “A case? How?”

“I’ve been watching you and Dean and… well, listen to this. Three days ago, a vintage pocket watch with a personal inscription was sold at a pawn shop. But when they went to authenticate it they found out that it had been buried with its owner. Twenty years ago. And when they checked out the grave, it was empty. Which means, the dead are rising in Dodge City, Kansas.”

He considers it for a few seconds. “Well, that sounds more like a grave robbery than an actual case.”

“Oh.”

“But we can still check it out. I mean, it’s Dodge City. That could cheer Dean up,” Sam says, mostly to himself.

“You think so?”

“It’s worth the try. We should go to bed now. Tell Dean and get going by tomorrow.”

Jack nods, turning off Sam’s laptop and tidying up the stacks of random papers littering the table before silently following Sam to their rooms.

Sam drags his feet across the tiled floor, and when they finally reach the dormitories he gently opens the door to Jack’s room and waits for the kid to get settled on his bed. He mumbles a ‘good night’ and closes the door behind him. He wishes he could do more for Jack. He’s essentially a child after all, but he can’t bring himself to tuck him in and all that stuff parents are supposed to do for their kids.

No, he doesn’t consider Jack as _his_ kid, not at all, but he feels a strong sense of responsibility for him. He believes that Jack has goodness in him, just as he believes he does. After the whole drinking-demon-blood deal, he had a hard time believing he could be anything but evil — a monster — but he’s been through enough now to know that good and bad are just relative terms to something that goes beyond following one path or the other.

Now he must make sure Jack understands that.

~~~

The next day he gets up early and sets off on his usual morning jog. By the time he comes back, he finds Jack reading in the library. He subtilty walks past him and is relieved to find that the kid isn’t reading some ancient, dangerous grimoire, just an old essay on rare plants and their healing properties.

He takes a quick shower, getting rid of all the muck and dust left over from the last hunt, and throws in a load of dirty clothes and bed sheets in the washing machine before getting back to the kitchen. His long hair is still dripping over his shoulders but the heat radiating off the machinery littering his underground home keeps him from shivering. 

Jack is now sitting at the table by the corner of the industrial-sized kitchen. With a quick glance he’s able to see that the kid has moved on from botanics and is now reading one of those cook books Dean refuses to acknowledge as his own. 

With a slight shrug, Sam turns to the stove and makes scrambled eggs. He sets a plate for Dean and takes it to his room.

He knocks gently on the door knowing damn well that his older brother spent the previous night drinking himself to sleep. After getting no response he decides to open the door.

Dean’s room is dark, save for the light seeping in from the lit hallway. The strong smell of alcohol and general regret sits heavily inside, surrounding the motionless lump that’s laid across the memory foam mattress far back. Sam sighs, setting the steaming plate on top of a few discarded papers on Dean’s desk. His eyes fall on the photographs propped against an ancient lamp that, by some miracle, still works, just like everything else in the bunker. His eyes jump between Mary holding three-year-old Dean in her arms to Dean and himself laughing at Bobby’s place more than a few years ago, and finally the most recent one of them and Cas enjoying a beer after a hunt. His heart sinks to his feet at seeing his brother smiling one of those rare, careless smiles they never get the chance to truly enjoy.

Sam is hurting. Ever since Mary and Cas… He’s been trying to stay strong, for Dean. His big brother has always been his rock, the one he can always count on, and one thing he’d always admired was how Dean wore his heart on his sleeve. Sometimes, on rare occasions, he could hide things so well not even Sam suspected something was wrong, but other times it was so obvious he wondered if his brother actually tried. Dean had always been a lady’s man, the manly man their father had wanted them to be, but he’d also been able to show emotion no matter how watered down he’d kept them. And now he can truly see and feel his big brother’s grief. It’s painful, borderline unbearable, and something must keep him up before he drowns in it. Of course, Sam will be that for him. He will shove it all down and be strong for his brother. There’re more important things to focus on other than grief.

He almost forgets where he is when a groan pulls him out of his thoughts.

He swallows the knot forming in his throat and turns to the shapeless lump on the mattress. Dean shifts slightly, groaning and cursing under his breath before finally sitting up. He’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes, Sam notices, boots and all. Dark bruises sit under his eyes as he squints up at him, a deep scowl resting on his restless face.

“Morning,” Sam says in the most cheerful tone he can muster. He turns to grab the plate from the crowded desk and shoves it onto his brother’s hands. “You better eat something, we’ve got another case.”

Dean sighs loudly, eyeing the still steaming eggs. “I’m not really in the mood for another fucking case, Sammy,” he growls out.

“I don’t care. Eat, take a shower and pack. We leave in two hours,” Sam commands, pulling the tangled covers off Dean.

“Can you at least tell me where we’re going?” Dean asks, rubbing his eyes violently with the hand that wasn’t currently holding the plate.

“Dodge City. Come on, you love that place,” Sam says, looking at his brother from the doorway.

Dean grunts in acknowledgement, stabbing the eggs with a fork.

Sam sighs and with one last look at his brother shoving scrambled eggs into his mouth, he leaves the room.

~~~

And just as he’d said, two hours later Sam is dragging Dean into the garage. Jack follows behind them silently, gripping Sam’s old duffle bag with both hands.

Sam opens the trunk, still gripping Dean tight to make sure he doesn’t run away and shoves their bags inside. Jack does the same and proceeds to climb into the backseat immediately after.

In a quick shuffle of hands, Sam reaches into Dean’s jacket pocket and pulls out the Impala’s keys, wrapping his fist around them. Dean frowns, reaching for them, but Sam lifts his arm and puts them out of the shorter man’s reach.

“Just give me the damn keys,” Dean demands, shoving Sam off him.

“Not happening. You’re in no condition to drive.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “What the fuck, man! You know damn well I can drive, hungover or not!” He immediately regrets raising his voice, groaning and reaching his hands up to hold his pounding head. Really, it’s a damn miracle he’s been able to keep his breakfast down and he would really like to keep it that way.

“Clearly.”

Sam makes his way to the driver’s side and opens the car door, getting in. He waits until Dean reluctantly does the same to shove the key in, twisting it. The car roars to life and with one last glance at the garage, Sam drives them up the ramp into the outside world.

The drive to Dodge City is mostly silent. A few minutes in Dean shoves a random cassette tape in, but as the first notes of ‘Good Times Bad Times’ come blaring through the speakers he decides he no longer wants to listen to anything and pulls the tape out, throwing it into the battered box of tapes that sits by his feet.

He eyes the glove compartment in front of him, knowing damn well what sits inside. He’d put it in there after taking it from-

He shakes himself. No need to think of _that_ now. Or ever, really.

Sam pulls into The Stampede Hotel parking lot and turns to Dean, expecting to see a child-like excited glint in his eyes as he babbles nonsense about the cheesy cowboy-themed decorations littering the entrance. Instead, he’s met with a cold hard glare. Sam returns his gaze forward, swallowing whatever impulse he has to say _something_ , anything to wipe that glare off his brother’s face. He yanks the keys out and opens the car door, stretching his arms over his head. It has been a while since he’s had to drive for more than a couple hours.

They settle in on what the hotel clerk had claimed to be ‘the best suite in the whole joint’. Dean takes his time hanging his suit carefully in the small closet at the back of the room while Sam and Jack argue over who’s taking the couch. He’s really not in the mood to do anything, and if both of them stormed in and pushed him to the couch he wouldn’t complain one bit.

After that, Sam insists they hit up a nice steakhouse and leave their investigation for the next day. Jack stays close to him the entire time, throwing careful glances at Dean. He really has no idea what could be going through the eldest man’s mind. He’s not even sure he wants to find out. He’s only been on Earth for a few weeks and the entire time he’s been shoved around by him.

This man, supposedly his protector, constantly keeps him at a distance, and it confuses him. How is he supposed to act? Who is he supposed to follow? Should he stab his steak aggressively with the fork like Dean? Or should he take generous bites of it like Sam?

He looks around the restaurant until he spots someone around his physical age. The guy is sitting with what Jack assumes is his family. He’s leaning back on his seat, feet sprawled forwards as he scrolls through his phone. His companions seem to be engaging in an active conversation, but he just sits there, occasionally lifting his gaze to nod at something or to take a sip from his soda. Jack carefully stretches his legs out, leaning back like the other guy is doing. Sam turns to him, frowning slightly.

“Getting comfy, kid?” Dean growls from his place on the other side of the booth, violently stabbing the last remnants of his steak.

Jack frowns, shuffling a bit in place. “I… think so?”

Sam sighs beside him. “Finish your food, Jack.”

Jack quickly sits back up and grabs his fork, diving into what’s left of the salad that Sam requested with his steak.

The rest of the meal is totally silent, not a word is uttered until the door closes behind them in the hotel room.

“’Night,” Dean murmurs as he makes his way straight to his bed, peeling off his boots and jeans before letting himself collapse on top of the too-hard mattress.

Sam nodded at him, ghosting a hand over his face before turning to Jack.

“You sure you can take the couch?” He asks.

Jack responds by settling on the couch, looking up at him reassuringly.

Sam eyes him for a few seconds. “Ok. Well, goodnight.”

A few hours later Jack is sitting on the small breakfast table in the middle of the room’s kitchenette. The soft gleam from the yellow lights outside illuminates his face, contrasting with the white glow of the laptop screen before him. He’s been mindlessly scrolling through the internet for hours, unable to let sleep take over him. Every time he closes his eyes, Dean’s words echo in his mind.

**“He manipulated him. He made him promises. Said ‘Paradise on Earth’. And Cas bought it. And you know where that got him? It got him dead! Now, you might be able to forget about that, but I can’t!”**

Every night the words make their way into his head. And every night Jack sits there, begging and praying for Castiel to come back. The father he chose but never got to meet. His saviour, his protector. He’d promised his mother he’d look out for him, keep him away from Lucifer and all the other bad people that wanted to hurt him.

Of course, back then he’d seen it, felt it. All the people Castiel cared about, all the people he loved. Now, Jack might be a little too young and _different_ to understand what that means, but just as Castiel promised he’d look after Jack, Jack promised he’d do everything in his power to pay him back. He understands the sacrifices his mother and Castiel made for him. He knows his mother distanced herself from her own family, kept herself hidden for his own sake even though she knew she wouldn't survive giving birth to him. And Castiel went against the angels, behind the Winchesters’ backs and risked everything just to keep Lucifer away from him. He saved him and gave his life in the process.

Now here he is. Sam and Dean have become his new protectors, even though they both have different reasons for that. Sam is trying to help. He seems to understand what Jack is feeling, even though Jack doesn’t know what that might be.

Dean, on the other hand, is more complicated. He’s seen him through Castiel’s eyes, felt just how close of a connection the eldest hunter and the angel shared. It was fascinating, and it filled Jack with warmth. He decided that was a good thing, because it made his father happy. And now, Dean can’t even look at him because of his father. He’s hurting, Jack can see it in his soul, and it’s such a different kind of hurt than the one he feels coming from Sam that it just causes more confusion to settle in Jack’s head.

Jack knows about their mother, he knows they rely on him to save her and he will do everything he can to help Sam with that. But Castiel and Dean…

Well, one can only beg and pray for so long before crumbling down. And he suspects Dean is already beyond that point.

Suddenly, a blinking light on the screen pulls him away from his thoughts. He realizes it’s from the local police database. He’d watched Sam get in and scroll through the page, and he’d decided that the least he could do was help them with the case. Maybe then Dean can see that he doesn’t want to be evil, that he only wants to help.

He reads the inscription and gasps, getting up from his place and rushing to the two beds at the back of the room. He eyes Dean for a second, the way a permanent frown settles between his eyebrows and how he seems to toss and turn uncomfortably and decides to approach Sam’s side instead.

“Sam? Sam!” He says, shaking the man’s arm.

A loud grunt and the click of a gun startle him. Dean is sitting up in bed, a gun pointed to Jack’s chest.

Sam startles awake and scrambles to sit up on the bed, turning to his brother. “Wait, Dean! It’s just Jack.”

Dean eyes him for a few seconds before clicking the safety back and setting the gun down. “‘Just,’” he grunts before falling back on the bed with a sigh.

Sam eyes his brother’s face before turning to Jack. “What is it, Jack? You ok?”

“Y-yeah,” Jack stammers, remembering why he’d busted into the room. “I think I got something on the case.”

~~~

A few moments later they’re all settled on the table with steaming cups of coffee in front of them.

Sam’s eyes dance across the screen as he reads. “Ok so code three means an officer down. Looks like the victim was-”

“Covered in bite marks. Like from a zombie!” Jack interrupts, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“Or anything else that has teeth,” Dean grunts harshly from his place on the opposite side of the table. “How do you even know about zombies, anyways?”

“Sam showed me this movie called Dawn of the Dead! I liked it a lot and-”

“Kid, shut up.”

Sam clears his throat loudly. “Ok, change of plans. Me and Jack are gonna hit up the graveyard while you check out the crime scene,” he decides, closing his laptop and getting up to avoid any complaints from Dean. Jack follows closely behind him.

“Whatever,” the older man grunts, taking a sip from his scalding, bitter coffee.

~~~

Dean sighs as he puts Baby in park. If it were any other day, any other him he would be jumping around like an excited puppy. But so far, he has barely acknowledged the hotel’s over-the-top cowboy theme, or the fact that he could be using his boots and fancy hat to play FBI or whatever.

His eyes jump to the glove compartment and the empty seat beside him before quickly reaching for his badge. He doesn’t think about how, in an alternate universe, the thing in the glove compartment would instead be sitting comfortably in a trench coat pocket and the seat beside him would be taken.

He doesn’t even think about how instead of later introducing himself as Agent Russell, he could playfully contemplate being agent Holliday while his partner hilariously introduced himself as Agent Earp or, God forbid, Val Kilmer.

Dean shakes himself as he climbs out of the car, managing his best neutral stare as he approaches Sergeant Phillips.

Of course, the dead officer has to be his nephew. And, of course, he has to be searching for a little outlaw revenge against whatever clawed at him.

Again, there would be a child-like glint of excitement in his eyes at this. But instead, a respectfully neutral stare is all he can manage.

Meanwhile Jack and Sam talk to the mortician, Ethina Lopez. They look around the place trying to find any suspicious things lying around, but all they manage to find are art books and photographs. Jack tries hard to show off, asking all the questions he’s seen Sam and Dean ask, and even though his social skills could really use some work, Sam can’t help but let something akin to a proud smile show on his face. 

Ethina guides them outside into the cemetery where they examine the casket. There, Sam makes a few interesting finds, including, but not limited to:

“Leftovers,” Dean grunts from his place at the couch as he turns what looks like a clawed-on pelvic bone between his hands. They’re back at the motel room going through all the information they’d gathered. Jack had eagerly sat on the armchair next to him babbling about his zombie theory. Sam could tell Dean was grasping for the last bits of patience left in him, so he cleared his throat and successfully grabbed the kid’s attention mid-sentence.

“Yep. Bitemarks. Looks like a ghoul.” Sam catches Jack’s confused look and sighs. “A ghoul is a monster that feeds on the dead. They take the form of whomever they eat.”

“So, like a zombie shapeshifter?” Jack asks.

“Will you ever shut up about zombies?!” Dean rasps out, exasperated. Sam throws him his trademark bitch-face, but Dean ignores it completely in favour of throwing the mangled bone to the table before him. He then wipes his hand thoroughly on the couch seat, making a face at whatever germs could be dancing around from the bone to his skin.

“Anyways. That thing’s got tunnels all over the graveyard.”

“So, if it can be anyone, how do we find it?” Jack asks.

Ten minutes later, they’re still sitting on the uncomfortable couches in the room. Both Sam and Jack have their faces buried in laptops, while Dean just lounges on the far end of the battered loveseat, his gaze completely lost in the cheesy rodeo wallpaper in front of him.

“I think I found something!” Jack’s voice breaks through the silence. “I tracked the plates of the stolen truck from the car scene and I went through the city’s traffic camera footage and look,” he says, turning the laptop screen to Sam. “This is it. From yesterday. Before the deputy was killed.”

Sam squints at the screen. He can barely make out someone in the front seat of the truck. He selects the frame to enlarge it and frowns.

“He looks familiar… I just can’t quite point out who he might be.”

A wide grin takes over Jack’s face as he remembers a very important detail of his investigation. “I saw a picture back at the mortuary! I think he’s Ethina’s boyfriend.”

Sam nodds. “Yeah, I remember that too, but there’s something else. Dean? You got any clue?”

His voice startles Dean out of whatever daydream fantasy he seems to have buried himself in. “What?”

“Does he look familiar to you?” Sam repeats, pushing the laptop towards his brother.

Dean squints at the screen in a way that makes Jack think that the brothers like to copy each other’s mannerisms.

“Oh,” is all Dean says. His eyes scan through the screen as a frown settles deep between his eyebrows.

“What?” Sam asks, trying to keep all the patience left in him for his brother’s sake.

“That’s Dave Madder,” Dean replies, his eyes never leaving the screen.

“Who?”

“Dave Madder. Y’know, cowboy, outlaw. Great gunfighter and all that,” he says, leaning back on his seat. “He did die in 1886, which…”

“Makes sense.” Sam pulls the laptop back to himself, eyeing the traffic image once again.

“So… he’s the ghoul?” Jack asks, the frown still settled on his tilted face. It takes everything in Dean not to look at the familiar gesture, choosing to leave the kid unacknowledged. No need to bring back more of… those thoughts. Besides, Sam can handle him.

“Most likely, yes.”

He stands up from his seat, closing the laptop’s lid as carefully as he can. “Dean go put your boots on.”

~~~

They arrive at the mortician’s office once again, asking for her boyfriend. Ethina doesn’t look very pleased to see them and Dean briefly wonders if that has something to do with the nephil they’d left in the car outside. She tells them about Dave’s little trip to the bank and Dean almost rolls his eyes at how predictable that is.

Though if he were in a much better mood he’d be jumping up and down at the prospect of getting into a possible gunfight with one of the greatest gunslingers there ever was.

As soon as the words leave Ethina’s mouth Sam is dragging them both out of there, almost taking Dean’s place in the driver’s seat to rush them to the bank.

And sure enough, as soon as they arrive the _thing_ wearing good ol’ Dave is calmly making his way to what Dean assumes is another stolen car carrying bags of money.

Great.

Sam turns to Jack, who’s staring up at not-Dave with a determined glint in his eyes. _Oh no_.

“Jack! Stay here!” Sam yells as he and Dean all but jump out of the Impala, pointing their silver-bullet loaded guns at the ghoul.

They’re talking, but Jack can’t make out most of the words. No, all he can think about is how he can kill that monster. Show both Sam and Dean, show himself, that he can be good. That he’s worth his mother and Castiel’s sacrifices. That he has a place in the world.

So, he opens the door, completely unaffected by the bullets flying around. His eyes are set on the monster before him. Sam shouts at him, desperately trying to get Jack’s attention because they’re out in public and _what if someone sees them?_ He knows it's almost impossible to hurt something as powerful as Jack but hell, he’s just a damn kid. What if-

Dean watches from his place, unsure of _what_ to do. His mind is blank, just as it has been for the last couple of weeks. Too overwhelmed to think, to act. His finger hovers over the trigger, still pointed at not-Dave. His wrist twitches and he can barely manage to hold himself back from changing his target as Jack lifts his right hand.

And as fate would have it — which, really, do they ever tire of making their lives miserable? —, the bank’s security guard choses this exact moment to play hero. The guy can tell not-Dave is distracted and decides to take his shot.

The last bullet is shot from not-Dave’s gun before a deafening silence takes over.

What feels like hours later, a loud bang pierces through the air.

Disbelief clouds everyone’s mind as another, much duller bang follows.

“No!” Jack’s scream is all it takes for Sam to snap out of it. He turns to not-Dave, who steals one last look at the security guard before sprinting away.

“Dean!” Sam calls out, and Dean is brought back to reality. He takes one look at his brother before gripping his gun tight and running after the ghoul. Time sets itself back as he chases after the monster in between narrow pathways and open fields. He doesn’t know how long it’s been when not-Dave finds himself cornered. He sighs, setting the bags on the floor before taking a pistol out and turning to Dean.

“Guess I gotta kill you now, huh?” not-Dave smirks, his eyes never leaving Dean’s.

Dean’s face remains expressionless, his grip on his gun faltering.

“Thanks for taking care of the guard for me.” The ghoul rises his gun, giving himself a second to widen his smirk before pressing his finger to the trigger.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Sam and Jack angsty bonding time. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I would update once a week but i've been working faster than I'd expected so maybe I'll give two or three updates this week!

“Sam, you have to do something!” Jack’s pleading voice breaks through the fog in Sam’s head. He’s kneeling next to the guard’s body, pressing his fingers against the side of the man’s neck trying to search for a pulse even though he knows-

“He’s dead,” he gasps out. The pool of blood beneath him starts soaking his jeans but he can’t bring himself to move. His eyes search the floor as his brain fights to process what just happened. He makes a mental list of everything, from the moment they walked into the mortuary to now, and searches for his next step.

Dean isn’t here — gone after the ghoul — and Jack just _killed someone on accident_. The kid is standing right behind him, and he can almost feel the tremors running through his body. The only sounds around them are the distant grumble of light traffic and heavy breathing coming from the bank. The ground is cold underneath him, and the shock of warmth from the guard’s blood has him fighting a wave of nausea that threatens to overtake him. Right here, right now, it’s very clear what his priorities are.

The sound of thunder accompanied by a terrified scream snaps him back to the moment. He gathers himself swiftly, taking note of any witnesses before turning to Jack.

“We have to go! Now!”

He keeps his voice low and deep to throw off anyone who might recognize him, but still firm and demanding to get through to Jack. It’s like a switch was flipped and his soldier mode took over him, like it always does when hunts turn sour. The mode his dad had worked so hard to drill into his head. The mode he hated so much, back when he’d left for Stanford and heard a suspicious noise in the middle of the night.

His every move is precise and calculated as his mind works a thousand miles per hour to process every second thoroughly. Every single sentence that comes out of his mouth is said with an authority that leaves no room for protest from whoever is on the other end.

He grabs Jack’s wrist and practically drags him to the impala. The kid remains silent and compliant as he’s all but shoved into the backseat, not bothering with the seatbelt as Sam drives them out of there.

The man carefully keeps them well under the speed limit. He takes notice of the woman staring at the guard’s body but decides she’s too disturbed by the whole thing to be able to remember their faces or the car they drove in, considering she hasn’t made a move to reach for her phone or the fact that her fast breathing is sure to make her pass out any second now.

Once they are closer to the hotel, Sam tries to call Dean, but his brother doesn’t answer his phone.

“Damn it,” he mutters under his breath. His fingers twitch in the white-knuckled grip he’s got on the steering wheel. He looks down at his stained jeans and decides he can’t walk back to their room like this. They’ve already raised enough suspicion by walking into a family hotel with what looked like business suits and their usual just-essentials worn down duffle bags.

He sighs loudly, driving past the annoyingly cheesy hotel. For the first time since they got in the car, he dares to steal a glance at Jack and he’s surprised to see the kid hasn’t moved an inch. He looks utterly devastated, staring out the fogged window as droplets of water run down the thin film of condensation.

Sam looks back at the road. A wave of panic threatens to take over his focused mindset. The situation is bad enough as it is, with Dean and the ghoul on the wind, but adding an unpredictable, all-powerful being who just straight-up _killed someone on accident…_

And Dean isn’t answering his phone.

He takes a deep breath, keeping himself calm and focused as his rational side screams at him to keep his shit together and go find his brother, who is in no condition to be on his own, much less take care of a damn ghoul.

Looking down at his phone — don’t-text-and-drive shit pushed aside — he opens the tracking app they use religiously regardless of whether they’re hunting or not. He thanks whatever God could possibly be remotely interested in listening to him when the blue dot of Dean’s location appears less than ten minutes away, in the opposite direction to the bank.

He makes sure to memorize the dot’s location before shoving the phone back into his jacket pocket. His eyes shift briefly to the rear mirror, stealing one last look at Jack before returning to the open road. He makes sure there’s no one around them before pressing down on the gas, the rough, familiar purr of the engine keeping him grounded.

~~~

It takes a long time for his brain to process what happened. One moment he’s standing there, pressing the trigger on his gun, aimed directly between the ghoul’s eyes, and the next he’s lying on the cold, hard ground. His left side feels weird, numb, and for some damn reason he can’t move. He faintly remembers the sound of two gunshots echoing through the brick walls of the empty alley followed by two dull thumps, one right after the other.

Must’ve been that damn son of a bitch’s body. Or, at least, he hopes so.

As the seconds tick by cold starts seeping through his bones and his limbs grow heavy. Funnily enough, he hasn’t felt this content in weeks. He just hopes Death, or, well, Billie, arrives faster than the police because it would really suck if after all of this he still had to deal with people fussing over the supposed FBI agent suspiciously bleeding out in an alleyway with a gun in his hand and a dead body less than a couple feet away.

Hopefully Sammy isn’t stupid enough to get in their radar.

A high-pitched ring pierces through the cold air. He can feel his phone vibrating inside his jean’s pocket, but he doesn’t bother with trying to reach for it.

He knows it’s not fair, giving up like this and leaving Sam to deal with Lucifer’s fucking son, but, what else can he do? It’s not like he actively pressed the gun to his head and shot himself. It’s just a hunt gone wrong. Most hunters go out this way, bleeding out in a corner of the world, alone and scared, but somehow relieved to leave all the torturous pain behind for whatever fate awaits in their afterlife. And really, all he can focus on is the voice at the back of his head pleading for all this pitiful heartache to stop.

It’s not fair, but that’s just his life.

His head starts feeling light, and his vision darkens around the edges. He feels something akin to a relieved smile paint his face as he takes one last deep breath and closes his eyes.

I’m sorry, Sammy.

I’m sorry, mom.

I’m sorry, Cas.

~~~

Sam’s clear head keeps him levelled as he ignores the voice screaming at him to go faster. His eyes shift back to Jack every once in a while, but the kid never moves an inch. He’s still curled up against the door, staring out the window with those terrifyingly expressionless eyes.

It soon becomes too much, and not even the most rational part of him can stop him from opening his mouth.

“Look, Jack. I know what happened was horrible, but you shouldn’t-”

“Sam,” Jack’s terse voice interrupts him. “Don’t.”

However, the flood gates have been opened and Sam can’t bring himself to shut up. “This job, this life, it’s not-”

“I said don’t!” Loud rumbling from the sky above has the car swerving in the busy street. It earns Sam a chorus of loud honks and angry cursing from other drivers. The man swallows the rest of his words, lifting his hand out the window in apology.

As they drive past the most crowded parts of the city and start venturing into the outskirts, less and less drivers stop pestering Sam and he’s finally able to surpass the speed limit without dragging any attention to them. The heavy rain slowly fades into a slight drizzle, but the big, dark storm clouds still lurk above them.

He pulls into an empty driveway. The buildings around them all look abandoned, with shattered windows and missing doors. He steals one last look at the grieving kid before reaching for the door handle.

“Please don’t go anywhere,” he pleads softly. Jack’s eyes shift in his direction and Sam holds his breath as he waits for the kid to say something. Several seconds go by before the kid leans back on his seat. Sam sighs and exits the car.

It’s only a few seconds later that he finds himself kneeling next to his brother’s unconscious body.

His mind goes completely blank, and he seems to be working on autopilot as he takes off his jacket and overshirt to press the ragged fabric against a bleeding wound. He presses two fingers to the elder man’s neck and is relieved to find a weak pulse. He takes a deep breath and spurs back into action.

The next half an hour or so is nothing but a blur in his mind. He doesn’t remember carrying Dean back to the impala, yelling at Jack to keep pressure on the wound as he drives them to the nearest hospital. He doesn’t remember the look of horror in Jack’s face as Dean’s body is thrusted at him in the back seat. He doesn’t remember the numerous honks and yells from other drivers, or the blinding glare of police lights behind him. He doesn’t remember the way they’d looked ready to forcefully apprehend him when he got out of the car, clothes covered in blood, before they noticed Dean in the backseat.

But once he finds himself in the hospital’s waiting room, the chemical smell of antiseptics and the constant prodding from nurses and policemen snap him back to himself.

He barely manages to answer the last questions to get them all off his tail before he runs to the bathrooms and locks himself in a stall. He fights to keep his breathing under control as his knees give out, leaving him to slump awkwardly over the toilet seat.

It takes a couple minutes of constant knocking for Sam to notice Jack’s sneakers peeking out from under the stall door.

“J-Jack?” His voice is nothing but a rough growl, like a wounded animal calling for help.

“Sam?” Jack asks. “Are you alright?”

Jack’s voice is quiet, unsure, and Sam curses himself for running off like that without checking in on the kid.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, standing up. He wipes away the stray tears that managed to escape his eyes before standing up and opening the stall door. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s ok,” Jack mutters, swiping a hand over his own teary eyes.

Sam goes to splash his face with some cold water, ignoring the tug at his heart when Jack goes to do the same. He looks up at the mirror and frowns as he catches sight of his bloodied clothes.

“I can’t go out like this,” he mutters to himself.

“I could get your bag from the car,” Jack says, his voice soft and careful. Sam turns to him, and he’s finally able to see the pure terror in the kid’s face. He knows this all happened so fast, and the next few hours are essential to defuse the ball of raw emotion in the kid’s gut before it turns into something worse.

He nods, deciding it would be good to let the kid have a few minutes to himself. He watches as Jack walks out of the bathroom, his head down and shoulders slumped.

Sam turns back to the mirror, fixes his hair and clothes as best as he can before walking out straight to the nurse station. He can feel people’s eyes on him, but he does his best to appear non-threatening. The nurses immediately tell him the basics: Dean was taken into surgery and there’s no way of knowing what the prognosis may be.

He understands this, yet the frustration that has slowly been simmering in his chest for weeks now sparks into a flame. He’s about to raise his voice, demand some damn answers because _that’s his brother and he’s the only family he’s got left and fuck why can’t they just get to enjoy some fucking peace for once in their goddamn lives-_

But then Jack arrives, and the feeling of his shaky hand on his forearm snaps him out of it. He takes a few deep breaths before nodding at the nurses and telling Jack to sit and wait while he goes and changes his clothes.

When Sam comes back Jack is sitting in the waiting room reading a magazine. Or at least that’s what it looks like he’s doing. He’d seen another man do the same and he really wanted — _needed_ — to blend in, so he took a random magazine from the basket at the end of the road of seats and opened it on his lap, letting his eyes dance around the bright colours while his mind got lost in his own thoughts.

He often complained of how slow the world seems to move around him, as if every human movement was made in slow motion, yet these past few hours have been nothing but a fast blur. There’s so many questions building up in his head, like how Sam managed to move so fast, easily lying to police and nurses about what happened. As far as he knew, lying was bad, but sometimes it was the best they could do. These humans, they don’t know about what kind of things exist in this world.

Things like him.

And it wouldn’t help their situation if they knew what Jack had done.

They sit in silence for hours until finally a doctor calls out to them. Sam tries to read her face, but it remains neutral and professional, and it makes Sam want to scream.

She tells him how, thankfully, there wasn’t any serious damage done. The bullet went clean through him, breaking two ribs on his left side due to the force of impact, brushed past his left lung, and then exited through his back. Sam had reached him just in time, and if they’d waited a few more minutes, his brother would’ve bled out in that alley. It would take time for him to heal, and he’d have to remain in bed rest for a couple months before doing any sort of heavy physical activity.

The two boys feel a wave of relief wash over them, and thoroughly thank the doctor for her work. Jack can’t wait to get back to the bunker and lock himself in his room where he can’t hurt anyone else, but then they’re told that Dean has to stay in the hospital for at least a week. The man lost a lot of blood, and they have to monitor the transfusion as well as the wounds.

The doctor guides them through the disturbingly white hallways to the room Dean’s been placed in. He’s currently unconscious due to the anaesthesia, but he’ll wake soon. She instructs them to be easy on him, and to do nothing to upset him.

They walk in and Sam is hit with memories from all those years ago when they got in that car accident. Their father was still alive and Dean-

But his brother is fine. He’s not in the ICU, connected to so many annoying, beeping machines. And John is long dead.

He grabs one of the chairs placed in the corner and drags it to Dean’s side. He sits, leans back and stares at his brother’s pale face. The IV and blood transfusion bags hang above him, and his quiet breathing matches the soft beeping of the machine he’s hooked up to. His face and arms are clean, no trace of dry blood to be found, and Sam sighs in relief.

Meanwhile Jack settles on the only other chair available in the room. He lifts his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs, making himself as small as possible. His eyes remain glued to the brothers as voices scream in his head.

**This is all your fault, Jack.**

Seeing the flares of pain and worry light up Sam’s soul, and the dull greyness that plagued Dean’s and threatened to take over, it’s too much for him.

He could’ve stopped it. He could’ve stopped everything if he knew how to handle his powers. But he doesn’t, and there’s nobody out there that can help him, not anymore.

Now more than ever Jack wishes Castiel where alive. If only his father — his protector — were here, none of this would’ve happened. He wouldn’t be struggling with who he is and what he does.

Because without him, he’s completely alone.

Yes, Sam is here, and the man is so kind and understanding, but his words and actions can only go so far for a being as powerful as Jack is.

He can still hear his mother’s voice, telling him how special he is. How she knows he’ll change the world, make everything better. But sitting in this hospital room, watching Sam silently fight back tears, he questions if his mother’s sacrifice was worth it.

**Maybe I’m not worth all of this.**

When all of this is over, and Dean is back on his feet, he’s going to beg Sam to lock him up. He doesn’t deserve to be out here where he can hurt and kill people without meaning to.

He doesn’t deserve his power if he can’t use it for good.

_Mom? Castiel? Where are you?_

Meanwhile Sam just sits and waits. Now that the shock of everything is gone, he feels drained. His limbs hang heavily over the uncomfortable plastic chair. His eyes never leave Dean’s chest, watching as it slowly rises and falls back flat with every breath he takes and wonders about what could be going on inside his brother’s head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's going on inside Dean's head?

Everything is pleasantly warm. The soft fabric of his old flannel shirt rubs against his face and he can’t help but take a deep breath. The smell of ozone and rain fills his nostrils and a soft smile settles on his lips. He feels content, happy even, in a way he hasn’t felt since he was 4 years old.

“Dean? Wake up,” a deep voice says, the vibrations caressing half of his face. He sighs, long and soft, and digs his nose even deeper into the person’s side. The hand he’s got draped over the person’s first chest grabs a fistful of soft fabric in protest.

“Five more minutes,” Dean mumbles sleepily.

“You said that fifteen minutes ago, Dean.”

He feels the barely-there touch of a hand slowly rubbing circles between his shoulder blades and slowly becomes aware of the way his legs hang off what he assumes is his bed. He’s so comfortable though, he can’t fathom moving an inch.

When a few minutes go by and he starts to feel himself get lost in the pleasant warmth, the hand on his back moves up to his head and carefully pulls on his light brown locks.

“Dean, they’re waiting for us.”

He sighs again, gathering all his strength and will to finally lift his head. Green eyes meet blue and it takes him a couple beats for his brain to comprehend the depth hiding behind them. His mouth seems to have a mind of its own and without really thinking of it, it morphs into a wide grin, which is quickly returned in equal magnitude.

It’s rare, a sight he’s only been literally blessed with a few times before, and it only makes him want to-

And just like that, his whole world is flipped upside down and he finds himself lying on the cold, hard floor.

“Did you just push me off my own bed?!” Dean asks indignantly, scrambling to get himself up.

“Uhmmm no?” Castiel says, holding that perfect poker face. It could fool just about anyone, but after a decade Dean can make out the tiny twitches on his artfully chapped lips that indicate just how hard he’s trying to hold back a smug smirk.

Dean gapes at him as the angel gets up and off the bed while fixing his borrowed flannel shirt.

“Asshole,” he grunts before turning to the door.

Castiel trails behind Dean. “I’m not the one who promised to cook a full meal then walked out to watch Star Wars, then fell asleep during th-”

Dean turns abruptly, digging his finger into the angel’s chest. “Ok, I get it! But don’t you dare mention that to anyone, capiche? Besides, I’m fucking exhausted.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “We all are. That’s usually how one feels after fighting Lucifer.”

“Yeah, well. Just shut up,” Dean retorts before turning back towards the long hallway. The angel follows Dean to the bunker’s kitchen, barely keeping himself from dramatically rolling his eyes again.

“About time! We’re starving!” Sam claims as the pair shuffles in.

“Shut up or I won’t cook for you,” Dean grumbles, rubbing sleep off his eyes as he walks straight to the industrial-sized fridge and digs out the ground meat from the freezer.

“Touchy,” Sam murmurs.

“I heard that!” Dean calls out and takes out the last tower of raw meat.

“Whatever, jerk.”

Dean rolls his eyes but still murmurs his trademark ‘bitch’ under his breath as he battles to hide a small smile. “Cas help me cut those tomatoes.” His head remains buried deep inside the fridge while he gestures noncommittally behind him.

Cas does just that, and the kitchen fills with sounds of dull chopping and sizzling meat. Dean sighs contently as the amazing smell of burgers fills his nostrils. He leans back on the little kitchen island while a round of meat patties cooks on the ancient stove. Cas leans against the counter and Dean takes advantage of the angel’s distracted state to let his eyes dance over his best friend. Ever since they defeated Lucifer and sent him back to the cage, Cas has been very insistent in letting loose a bit. And to be honest, Dean did not mind it one bit. He gladly let the angel borrow some of his stuff, claiming they could go shopping later.  
It’s been a couple months since then and they haven’t done that, but they don’t talk about it.

Instead, when they’re not out hunting, they spend their days in Dean’s room binge watching whatever Netflix shows catch their attention. Sometimes Sam, Mary and Jack join them, which usually involves two six packs of beer and a gigantic bowl of popcorn. Those days, Dean can’t find it in himself to complain when later on he discovers the inevitable crumbs littering his precious memory foam or the perpetual smell of butter that attached itself to the brick walls around him.

Other times, when Dean’s muscles get too cramped up from staying in the same position for hours, they go out for long walks through the woods around the bunker or join Mary and Jack on a trip to town. It’s calm, and nice and everything Dean’s craved for most of his life.

“Are they done yet? I’m starving!” Jack says as he walks in. Dean shakes himself, focusing back on making dinner.

“Almost,” Cas answers, smiling up at the kid. Dean’s heart flutters and he blames it on the little drops of boiling oil that land on his freckled skin as he flips the burgers.

“Can I help?”

Dean sets the last round of raw meat on the pan, adding more cooking oil. “Get the buns from the counter.”

Once the burgers are done, they take everything to the war room where Sam has gone to sit with Mary.

“About damn time!” Sam says, again, leaning back on his chair.

“I swear, you say that one more time and I’ll throw away all your disgusting smoothies!” Dean threatens, taking a seat next to Cas.

“They’re good for you! Besides, they don’t taste that bad, right Jack?” Sam asks, turning to the kid.

Jack smiles with his mouth full of burger. “They taste good!”

“Please tell me you’re not poisoning the kid.” Dean shoots Sam a disgusted glare.

Cas rolls his eyes fondly at the brothers, resisting the urge to kick Dean under the table. “Actually, I asked him to show Jack a… healthier way of nourishment.”

“How dare you?!”

“Dean don’t be so dramatic,” Mary laughed.

“Me? Dramatic? Huh, yeah right.” Dean huffs out over a mouthful of red meat.

“She’s right. You are very dramatic, Dean.” Cas mutters behind his burger, not bothering to look at the hunter.

“Ok, alright, whatever...”

~~~

“Sam?”

The younger Winchester jerks awake, instinctively reaching down to his waistband only to remember that he left his gun secured in the Impala. He sighs, glancing over the unconscious form of his older brother before looking up at Jack.

The kid stands holding a plastic bag in one hand, a steaming Styrofoam coffee cup in the other. He’d washed his tear-stained face, only letting his red-rimmed eyes betray his otherwise calm facade.

“I brought you some food,” Jack whispers, thrusting the bag and coffee cup to a very, very tired Sam.

He really doesn’t feel like drinking scalding, bitter coffee, much less munching on whatever vending machine snack Jack got, but he knows the kid also went through a very traumatic experience, and maybe this is some sort of fucked up plan to ‘redeem himself’. He gathers all the strength left in him to lift the corners of his mouth in an attempted smile and takes the items from Jack. He looks inside the bag and is surprisingly impressed with the selection of oatmeal cookies and bite-size sandwiches the kid got.

“I used the money you gave me for emergencies. I know you haven’t had anything to eat in a long time and I don’t want you to be hungry,” Jack keeps whispering. “I had a couple nougat bars and coffee earlier.”

“Thanks Jack,” Sam croaks out, willing himself to take a couple sips of coffee as well as a few bites of one of the cookies. Jack watches silently with a self-satisfied, determined look on his face before taking the other empty chair in the room and dragging it next to Sam’s.

They sit there for God knows how long, the only sounds being their own breathing and the occasional footsteps of doctors and nurses rushing to tend to their patients.

As much as Sam doesn’t want to, the dark thoughts he’s been desperately trying to push down fight their way up to the surface. Dean’s been incredibly close to dying twice in just one week.

**“Guess I got lucky.”**

Dean wants to die. He knows this, Hell, he practically said it with his whole ‘I don’t believe anymore’ speech. This, losing mom and Cas and — _heck_ — Crowley, so fast… it’s hit him harder than anything else ever has. He wasn’t even this bad after Hell. It’s like he’s given up completely and it terrifies Sam so much more than anything Lucifer could ever think of doing to him. Especially now that he’s expected to be the strong one, not just for Dean but for Jack and himself too and he’s not sure he can hold on for long.

**“She said that we’re important. That we’ve got work to do.”**

Sam has always found comfort in prayer. Even after he met God — and found out that he might as well have been begging to himself —, he kept doing it. Every night before closing his eyes he would lay in bed and whisper to himself in the safe darkness of his room. With his eyes open and as vulnerable as he could be, he felt some form of comfort in knowing that his words didn’t disappear in thin air. Even if they didn’t reach His ears, they would reach some dick angel’s, and even if they didn’t care, even if they didn’t bother with paying attention to the actual words, he was listened to. His frustrations, his gratefulness, his complaints, everything reached a place somewhere where it could escape his body even for only a few seconds per night to leave him floating in a warm embrace that fed him with enough energy to be able to open his eyes in the morning and drag himself out of bed for another day.

And now Death says they’ve got work to do.

For the first time in his life, Sam Winchester prays to Death.

_Thank you, Billie, for not taking him. Thank you for giving us another chance. Now please, I’m begging you, give us the strength to keep going. Give us a reason, a hope, anything. Please. Please._

Next to him, Jack sits and pretends not to hear Sam’s prayers.

He will never tell Sam this, but since that first night he spent with the Winchesters, Jack has been able to hear Sam’s prayers. He doesn’t know how, or why, but as faint and muffled as they are, he can. Every time it leaves a sinking feeling in his stomach that just gets worse each day.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Jack whispers as he stands up from his chair, though he isn’t sure Sam hears him. The taller man’s eyes remain glued to Dean’s face.

Jack walks softly out of the room into the long hospital hallways until he reaches the waiting room. The nurse behind the circular desk in the middle waves at him with a soft, sad smile on her lips. Jack waves back and mirrors her smile. He admires how strong these women and men are for being able to care for other hurt humans. He wishes he knew how to heal all of them and wonders why God would create such wonderful, fragile creatures. His grandfather is truly confusing.

As soon as he walks into the bathroom, the lights flicker, and fade, and an ice-cold gust of wind surrounds him. His wings twitch behind him as his eyes glow gold from his grace’s defence mechanisms activating.

“There’s no need for that, kid. I’m not here to hurt you. Not that I could, as much as I would like to.”

Suddenly, a tall woman dressed in all black appears in front of him. Her shoulder-length, dark hair framed her sharp features and her deep, earthy brown eyes stared long and hard at the Nephil, making him feel incredibly small in the open room. His wings wrapped protectively around his body as he looked up at the woman in awe.

“Who are you?” He asked, his voice barely a whisper. His warm breath left his mouth in a soft white cloud, and a violent shiver ran down his spine.

The woman saw this, of course, and frowned in contemplative confusion. Her eyes scanned Jack’s skinny yet somehow muscular frame, looking for something. “Huh. You’re more human than I expected.”

“Who are you?” His voice comes out louder this time. A pleased smirk takes over the woman’s red lips.

“My name’s Billie, but you can call me Death.” As she speaks, a scythe appears next to her. She wraps a gloved hand around the hilt, sparing a loving glance at it before returning her eyes to Jack.

“You’re Death.” Jack parrots. Slowly but surely, he unwraps his wings from around him and stretches his grace out to stand a little straighter. “You talked to Dean.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

Billie’s eyebrows rise at the kid’s demanding tone. “I knew about your existence, and I wanted to know just how much power you held over the universe.”

“You know about my powers?”

“Yes and no. I know the essence of them, but I don’t know just how far they can reach. I’m not even sure God knows,” Billie says, sighing.

“Well, I don’t know either.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you here?”

Billie smiles at his question, walking a couple steps closer until there’s only a few feet between them. “I’m just here to warn you.”

“Warn me?”

“Yes. Messing with the universe’s balance by playing with portals; it’s not wise, kid. The balance is such a delicate thing not even I would risk getting close to disrupt it. And if you do, I’ll be forced to intervene. And believe me, you do not want that.”

Jack frowns, eyeing Billie. He can’t sense much from her other than the ominous aura surrounding her, but his instincts tell him she’s being serious. Still…

“I must help Sam get his mother back,” he says, holding his ground.

Billie hums. “The Winchesters, they’re important for this universe. They have work to do, and if getting their mother back is part of that, then so be it. Just consider my warnings. If it comes to it.”

“If?”

“Nothing is permanent, kid. Even God has an expiration date.” With that, Billie is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and bittersweet. I know i said i'd update once a week but i've been working fast on this so i might keep the updates to once every two days. Your comments are greatly appreciated!!! Come say hi on Tumblr: @call-it-a-miracle I'm lonely :(


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe he can fix things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Jack and Dean angst with a side of desperate Sam. Your comments are greatly appreciated!!! Come say hi on Tumblr: @call-it-a-miracle

“Dean, we need to talk.”

Dean’s carefree walk comes to a halt. The sound of gravel shifting under his boots echoes through the otherwise silent forest. The afternoon sun shines over the thick trees around them, mixing with the warm August breeze and ruffling his short, light brown hair.

“About what?” He asks, turning to the angel beside him. The light falls around him like a halo and Dean would’ve made a sarcastic comment about it if he wasn’t too busy losing his breath.

Castiel sighs. His bright blue eyes dance around the dry leaves littering the ground before finally reaching Dean’s vibrant greens. “About this. Us.”

“Us?” Dean frowns.

The angel nods and a sad smile settles on his perfectly chapped lips. “Yes, us. This… this isn’t real. You know that, Dean.”

Suddenly the warm breeze turns cold and the sunlight is replaced with dark shadows. Leaves wrestle above them, some of them falling to the ground with soft thuds and a shiver runs down Dean’s spine. Bursts of light flash over his wide eyes.

He tries to fight it with everything he has left, but in the end the memories and the pain come back to him like a kick to the teeth.

He’s always known it’s been too good to be true. Something always tickled at the back of his skull, how there seemed to be a big chunk of information missing, but he’d been so damn tired of everything to care. He’d decided to put it behind a thick wall, all too happy to lean back and let the djinn-dream-like fantasy play itself out.

But of course, _it can’t last forever._

It reminds him way too much of his time in Hell. Back when he’d been hanging from those meat hooks while Azazel played with him. The demon would put him through unbearable pain until Dean passed out. And just as the relief of total nothingness settled in him, he would wake up in his room back at his old house. He would run down the stairs to see 10-year-old Sam eating cereal while John read the newspaper on the dining table and Mary finished frying a round of bacon. It was perfect, an oasis in the middle of the desert, until he was forced to brutally murder them all before waking up to another knife cutting him open.

Except this time, it’s so much worse.

He takes a deep breath, cursing his fantasy eyes for blinking unnecessarily while he tried to scan every single detail of the angel to commit him to memory.

“I know.”

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Castiel says, and the sadness in his eyes is too much to bear. Dean’s eyes sting, and it’s a sharp burn that slowly expands throughout his body and seems to end where he stops being and the angel begins to be.

“Me too.”

The sky starts to turn darker and darker, and it bleeds onto the trees around them like ink running through paper.

“Please take care of yourself.”

In seconds, everything melts into the black background, and it’s only him and Castiel standing there. A desperate sound escapes his throat. The waves travel through the big nothing until they eventually disappear in the low hum of his own heartbeat.

“Cas, wait!” He cries out, stretching his arm forward.

For a second, he swears he can feel the rough fabric of the damn tan trench coat instead of the soft plaid that the angel appeared to be wearing. And those big, bright blue eyes full of sadness are the last thing he sees before he loses this new synthetic consciousness.

~~~

It’s been ten hours since Dean got out of surgery and he still isn’t waking up. The only reason he knows this is because of the nurses coming every thirty minutes to check his vitals. And every time they say the same thing. _‘He lost a lot of blood. He’ll wake soon enough.’_

Sometime during his own sulking Jack had managed to run to the car and get Sam’s laptop. He drags his chair to Sam’s side and carefully props the laptop on the bed by Dean’s feet, playing some random documentary about sea creatures on Netflix.

Sam is finally able to rip his eyes from his brother to look at the kid. Jack gives him a shy smile, taking out a half-finished pack of Oreos. The hunter eyes the cookies before slowly shaking his head. Jack’s smile falters a bit, but he still takes a single cookie and puts the rest inside his duffel bag.

Jack keeps the volume down, aware of the fact that they’re in a hospital, but Sam is still grateful for the distraction. He allows himself to relax a little once he realizes his staring won’t make Dean heal any faster. He leans back on the uncomfortable plastic chair and lets the soothing voice of the narrator and the soft colours of the ocean take over him.

The Nephil does exactly the opposite. He sits there and lets his eyes lose focus on the screen. All he can think about is Death, or as she called herself, Billie.

**‘The Winchesters, they’re important for the universe. They have work to do, and if getting their mother back is part of that, then so be it. Just consider my warnings. If it comes to it.’**

He may not know how to do a lot of things, from both his human and angelic sides, but maybe he _can_ help them get their mother back. He remembers what it was like — opening the portal — even though he wasn’t aware of just what he was doing. If he can recreate that, walk through, find Mary and bring her home…

Maybe he can fix things.

They’re only half way through the documentary when Dean’s hand twitches. Both Sam and Jack seem to notice the minuscule movement because the screen is paused, and both sets of eyes are glued to the hand in question. A soft whimper escapes Dean’s lips and Jack immediately grabs the laptop and recoils back to the corner of the room.

Sam stands up and towers over his brother, wide eyes checking frantically for any other sign. He counts thirteen seconds before another whimper escapes his mouth, this time louder, accompanied by soft murmurs. His hand twitches again as he slowly grasps a fistful of white sheet.

The younger brother is paralyzed, holding his breath as if that would stop Dean from recovering consciousness.

“Dean?” he whispers, leaning forward in his seat.

His brother’s breathing hitches, and a frown appears between his eyebrows. The man seems to struggle with something, wrestling and grappling and-

His eyes fly open.

Dean blinks a couple of times. The bright white lights of the room stab at his eyes.

There’re a few blissful seconds where Dean can’t remember his own name. He takes his time taking deep breaths and letting himself get used to the light. But then he catches a small glimpse of his brother’s blurry face and his breathing hitches again. Memories come rushing to his head and all he can do is close his eyes again and tighten his grip on the disgustingly-white sheets.

“Dean, hey.” Sam’s gentle voice says. Dean feels his brother’s hand grip his and he has to take a couple seconds to calm himself down. He finds that thick brick wall he’s built inside his head and shoves all the bad shit behind it, if only for just a few moments, and finally gathers the strength to look at his baby brother.

And God, Sammy is a mess.

His long hair sits haphazardly on top of his head in a way that has him wondering if it’s ever looked this bad. Not even when he had the fucking devil riding inside his body did a single hair jump out of place. _Damn his stupid Disney princess hair._ His clothes are rumpled and more mismatched than usual and the unkept beard he sported hid half of his pale face. His eyes are red and puffy, sunken in from exhaustion, and if Dean didn’t know better, he’d think his brother was still being plagued with hallucinations of Lucifer.

“Hi Dean,” Sam says again, slightly louder. He squeezes Dean’s hand again and a small smile makes its way to his lips when he feels Dean weakly squeeze back. “Jesus fuck, you scared the shit out of me.”

And there’s that awful guilty feeling. He almost lets himself fall into a self-pity hole of despair when he realizes that he can _feel_ it. He can feel his stomach twist and his heart sink, and it may not be the best feeling but at least it’s _something._

“’m sorry,” he mumbles. The pain grows and grows and when he’s no longer able to look at his brother he lets his eyes roam the hospital room.

And then he spots him. The fucking kid.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Dean.”

The older Winchester flinches awkwardly, but before he can say anything, there’s a knock on the door. The doctor from before, doctor Weiss, walks in holding a clipboard to her chest. A curt smile takes over her professionally neutral face as she greets them. She immediately makes her way towards Dean, two nurses trailing behind her. They test Dean’s reflexes, ask him a couple questions, all the standard procedures to make sure the impact to his head from the fall didn’t cause any bad concussions.

After the doctor rules him as stable, they bring him a tray of soft foods for him to eat while the doctor talks to Sam outside. Jack remains in the room, silent and unmoving as he watches Dean eat.

“Is he going to be ok?” Sam asks her as soon as the room door closes behind them.

“His vitals are stable, and his reactions aren’t as delayed as I’d been expecting. With a little time, he’ll be back to normal,” Dr. Weiss says, the curt smile completely gone, replaced by a serious frown.

Sam lets out a breath, running his hand through his hair. “But?”

“But Mr. Winchester is quite malnourished,” she continues. “And his blood tests indicate high levels of alcohol ingestion.”

The hand on his hair balls into a fist, pulling tightly.

Meanwhile Jack just sits there, watching as Dean shoves a spoonful of orange Jell-O into his mouth and then proceeds to stare at the white, bare wall in front of him. His eyes glaze over as his mind wanders somewhere. Jack can’t even begin to imagine what is going through the man’s head as he watches the weak pulse of the man’s soul. It only makes him want to help more.

He still can’t understand why he feels this way towards Dean. The man has done nothing more than act hostile with him and-

He just hopes this is a good thing.

~~~

Four days later they’re back at the bunker. The doctor had told them Dean would need to stay for a little more than a week, but the man had all but begged to get out of there. Sam had complied, but only when he’d been sure the wound was healed enough for it not to burst open at the slightest movement, since the whole ‘severe alcoholism and malnourishment’ thing made it harder for it to heal.

It hadn’t been easy to sneak out, but luck must be on their side for they managed to walk out through the main doors without dragging much attention to all three of them.

Sam helps Dean settle in his room, making sure his brother’s memory foam mattress is comfortable enough to keep him resting without any complaints. He grabs his own pillows from his room and uses them to prop Dean’s back against the wall at an angle that keeps the stitches from tugging uncomfortably.

“Are you hungry?” Sam asks, letting his eyes roam around the room.

Dean sighs, not bothering with turning to Sam. “No.”

“Come on. I’ll go get you a sandwich.”

As soon as he leaves the room Sam lets out the long breath he’d been holding. Ever since he woke up Dean’s been… distant. To say the least. He barely speaks, and his eyes get lost in random spots around him. He doesn’t fight Sam when he tells him to eat or shower, makes no move to stop the movies Jack choses to play for them and didn’t complain when Sam got in the Impala’s driver seat.

Sam’s never seen his brother like this before and it truly terrifies him.

**If things were bad before, they must be monumentally worse now.**

He looks inside the bunker’s fridge and almost slaps himself as he’s met with nothing. They’ve been out on hunts since the whole incident with Lucifer, so they haven’t had the chance to go grocery shopping. He sighs, closing the fridge door and leaning against it.

“Sam?” Jack asks, walking into the kitchen. “Are you alright?”

**No.**

Sam sighs again, opening his eyes. Jack’s head is tilted in that familiar way and just looking at those blue eyes breaks Sam. Something cold and empty squeezes at his heart and it must show on his face because realization crosses through the Nephil’s face.

Jack’s eyes widen and without a second thought he leans forward and wraps his arms awkwardly around the taller man’s middle. He’s seen people do it in movies to comfort others they care about, and he’d been wanting to try it ever since, but he would never wish such anguish for Sam.

The older man just stands there for a few seconds before slowly throwing his arms around Jack.

He can’t lie, it is comforting to know that he’s not completely alone. He knows Jack still depends a lot on him, but the kid’s been learning so much and the way he kept him sane at the hospital… well, Sam couldn’t be more grateful for the powerful being currently squeezing his internal organs.

“Thanks Jack,” he manages to get out in a rough whisper. Jack nods against his chest, refusing to let the man go.

A couple seconds pass until finally Sam clears his throat. “I need to go check on Dean.”

Jack lets him go.

“I can go out, if you want. Get some food for us. For Dean.” Jack says, looking up at Sam. “Or I can try and make something! Remember that pen I made?”

Back when he’d been trying to move the pencil like Sam had asked him to, he’d made a few mistakes. One of them being creating a pen without truly meaning to. He’d just been so frustrated with everything, in a rush of anger he took the pencil and broke it. The Nephil panicked, looking at the two broken pieces. Not really knowing what to do, he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was surprised to see a simple black pen standing in place of the broken pencil.

Sam doesn’t meet his eyes. He just shakes his head and presses his lips into a thin line. “No, no. It’s ok Jack. We’ll just drive into town later. Just let me tell Dean.”

With that he leaves the room.

Jack watches him go, a deep frown settling between his eyebrows. He really, really wants to help — do something —, but it seems like Sam only wants him to sit and wait for him to tell him otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on Tumblr: @call-it-a-miracle


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s not what I meant. I need to help you find your mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated!! Come say hi on tumblr: @call-it-a-miracle

Dean’s not sure what’s wrong with him. He’s been through so much shit before, but somehow this _feeling_ is brand new. It’s not the raw pain he felt when he held Sam’s sagged body as he bled to death that first time, or the bitter sting that hit him when he fished Cas’ trench coat out of the reservoir. It’s not the numbing sensation of watching as doctors and nurses fought to save his dad’s life at the hospital, and it’s not the way he held his breath as he heard Bobby call him and Sam ‘idjits’ in his dying breath.

Throughout his life he’s seen countless lives lost, some of them by his own hands; whether it was him holding the bloody knife or bearing the full responsibility. He knows the exact way the eyes, monster or human, turn a lifeless grey and how the pools of blood look inky black under the moonlight. He’s heard people beg for their life, beg to be saved, or beg to be killed.

He’s seen the many ways evil can corrupt and destroy even the purest beings. He’s been witness to humans and monsters alike, consumed by this endless void of violent malice. He’s felt it, pulsing in his very core, extending itself to everything he dares to touch. And he’s fought it, in ways that have only been described in science fiction texts and movies.

But he’s also seen light. Like a goddamn rainbow after a storm, or a tree blooming in the remnants of a forest fire. He’s been witness to amazing, unimaginable good emerging from the darkest corners of the universe, flourishing and saving everything in its path. He’s felt the unbearable joy of being held in light away from darkness, the wave of relief as his body and mind is put back together. Like a man finding water in a dessert, always finding light at the end of the tunnel even when he felt everything was lost.

But this time…

There’s no name to what he’s going through because he’s pretty damn sure that no other human being has felt something even remotely similar to this. And no name means no control over it. He can’t put these feelings behind a wall if he doesn’t even know where to build said wall. It’s all just _there_. Like an open wound begging to get infected.

The only thing he can do is comply to whatever Sam wants from him for his own sake and his brother’s. At least then, one of them can get hold of some sort of control over the situation.

And, yeah, Dean might be many things but he’s not dumb. He knows Sam is hurting, too. Pretty fucking bad, too, if his hair had the audacity to look so messed up and unkept after only a few hours at the hospital. But at least the man can keep that damn mental wall up for long enough to keep his mask in front of him and the kid.

 _Fuck_. The kid.

Jack killed that guard back at the bank. It did look like an accident, and Dean knows the kid is trying, but one way or another, he’d been sure something like this would happen. Sooner or later those damn God-like powers were going to drag them somewhere because he doesn’t know how to fucking use them.

It’s bad enough that there’s someone more powerful than fucking Lucifer out and about, but it’s so much worse that the kid can’t even sneeze without threatening to blow the entire place up.

He wonders how in the Hell did Sam even manage to look at the kid after all of that. _Damn Sam and his bleeding heart_. That kid sure knows how to sympathize with those you should not sympathize with. Sure, they’ve long learned that hunting is not as black and white as their father had led them to believe, but one should draw the line somewhere, and Lucifer’s goddamn kid feels like a good place to start.

Dean just doesn’t understand why they insisted on saving the kid when all of this wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for him. But Sam and… and Cas had been so fucking insistent on helping him. And now…

He doesn’t remember much of what he dreamed about when he was unconscious. There’s bits and pieces, small smiles and gentle eyes that tell him just how much it would hurt to remember. And those last words still echo in his mind over and over again like a broken record playing perpetually in the empty space of his heart.

**“Please take care of yourself.”**

A sharp stab of pain overwhelms him as he shifts uncomfortably. No matter how many bullet wounds he’s gotten throughout his life, they never stop being a big pain in the ass.

He sits back on the bed, opening his laptop and waiting for it to turn on while ignoring how his fingers still tingle with the rough brush of worn, tan fabric.

~~~

Sam stands a few feet away from Dean’s room, allowing his mind to brace itself before finally pushing himself forward. Once he reaches his brother’s door, he raises a shaky fist and knocks firmly. He waits a few seconds for Dean’s muffled reply and lets himself in.

He finds Dean propped up against the wooden headboard, two pillows cushioning his back at an angle that doesn’t disturb his stitches. His laptop lays comfortably on his lap as he scrolls through the Netflix main page.

“Hey, man,” Sam greets him casually, content that at least his brother isn’t staring blankly at the walls anymore.

“Hey.” Dean grunts back, not bothering to look up from the bright screen.

“So, turns out the fridge is empty… I’m heading out with Jack. You need anything?”

Sam quietly hopes Dean asks for something. Heck, he’ll gladly go to one of those shady gas stations and get him the latest Busty Asian Beauties. Anything to show some sort of _joie de vivre_ , even if it’s forced or faked.

But Dean just shakes his head. “Nah, thanks. Just be careful. Don’t lose the kid.”

Sam nods, forcing a tight-lipped smile to hide his disappointment before silently leaving the room and closing the door behind him. He makes his way back to the war room where Jack insisted he should wait while Sam talked to Dean. The kid’s weird, tan jacket covers the way Sam’s old t-shirt droops awkwardly over his thin body.

Right. They should get him some clothes his size.

Jack doesn’t really _need_ to change clothes, or shower, or eat, or sleep, but he does it anyways. He says it doesn’t feel as intense as human’s need to survive, more like a simple pleasure he can allow himself. He enjoys the feeling of the incredible water pressure the bunker’s showers are blessed with, and the taste of pizza and beer, but he doesn’t need those to stay alive. At least not as often as a normal person does.

He doesn’t like sleeping, though, and can easily go a full week before it starts taking a strain on the human side of his mind. Sam doesn’t question further, already having an idea of why the kid is so insistent on pushing his limits.

After all, he’s always been afraid of sleeping, too.

He nods at him, and the kid runs up the stairs into the landing. Sam follows him, opening the heavy door and carefully shutting it behind him. He grabs the impala’s keys and shudders at how wrong it feels to open the driver’s door. He slides in and waits for Jack to do the same.

Once the kid is settled, he twists the key and listens to the familiar purr of the engine before driving up the ramp and out into the world. The sunlight that hits them is almost blinding, too different from the bunker’s ancient, warm lighting.

Sam rolls his window down and takes a deep breath, basking in the wonderful smell of wood and general freshness that covers the outskirts of Lebanon.

Back when he was a kid, he used to love sitting in the backseat with the windows rolled down. His long hair would fly everywhere, earning some of those rare, pure laughs from both his dad and Dean. All sorts of smells would dance around the car, which considering they were all three boys practically living inside the damn thing, it wasn’t bad at all.

Whenever things got to be too much for his young mind, he would just stare at all the different kinds of scenery the country had to offer. Watching the trees go by in a gentle blur, mountains emerge from seemingly out of nowhere and, on rare occasions, the distant sight of the ocean made it all worthwhile as he was forced to endure countless hours trapped in that thing. Over the years it became some kind of coping mechanism, the thought that even though his life is full of monsters, there’s still some beauty left in the world.

That was before shit hit the fan, anyways.

Still, he feels his heart beat match the steady rumble of the Impala’s engine as the cold air hit his face and ruffled his long hair.

“Sam?”

The man took one last deep breath before briefly turning to Jack. The glove compartment is wide open, and the kid is holding something between his hands. Sam can’t make out what it is, but a bad feeling creeps up at the back of his head.

“Yeah?” Sam prompts when Jack takes too long to talk.

Jack’s voice is only a whisper, barely heard over the wind flowing through the open window when he says, “…this was my father’s.”

Sam silently thanks when the familiar main road starts, and the car reaches a stop light. He turns back to Jack and finally catches sight of the _mixtape_.

In what Sam can clearly identify as Dean’s best attempt at writing neat and legible, it reads: **‘Deans top 13 Zepp TRAXX’.**

He frowns. “That’s Dean’s.”

Jack shakes his head. “No. It’s not. There’re traces of my father here. I can see it.”

“…Cas? But it literally has Dean’s name on it. How…?” Sam’s frown deepens, and his eyes only leave the tape when a loud honk behind him reminds him that he’s driving.

“I don’t know. There is some of Dean too but it’s mostly Castiel.”

After that they fall into a tense silence. It doesn’t take long for Sam to put two and two together, from Dean being so damn adamant on keeping the glove compartment of the Impala untouched to Cas asking Sam where he could listen to tapes other than the car.

His grip on the wheel becomes tighter.

~~~

By the time they get back, the sun is starting to set. The bright oranges and yellows of the sky cast shadows over the leather car seats. The trunk is on the verge of bursting with bags, since they didn’t know when they’d have the time (or will) to go back into town.

Jack sits on the passenger seat, looking out the window. His eyes would occasionally drift to the glove compartment before him where he’d gingerly returned the mixtape as if it where the most delicate flower. He’d been able to see whispers of Castiel’s grace mixed with tiny breaths of Dean’s soul.

It was… weird, having such a prominent physical reminder of Castiel’s existence. He’d never had the opportunity to see the angel, just like his mother. He wasn’t as sure if he really got to know them in that brief period of time he got to _feel_ them. Is there more to his mother than her kind words? Or Castiel and his safe presence? And, will he ever get to know Sam that well? Dean?

Either way, he really misses the feeling of them. Listening to them talk, wrapping himself in Castiel’s grace and his mother’s soul… he’s only been alive for a few months and he hasn’t found anything that remotely resembles that.

Is this how Sam and Dean feel, too? Their mother is gone, because of him, and they never mention their father. This only feeds more and more into the need to help Sam, open a portal and get their mother back.

When they finally reach the bunker, he helps Sam carry all the bags from the car into the kitchen. Once that’s over, he takes his new clothes to his room and rushes back to help Sam make dinner. And by dinner he means sandwiches, since apparently that’s all Sam can make.

He waits patiently while Sam takes a plate and a bottle of water to Dean’s room, as well as a bottle of pain killers. Then, they both eat in silence.

Sam can tell something’s up with Jack, and it’s not just the thing with the mixtape. The kid’s been through so much and he’s barely had time to take a breath.

He takes the last bite of sandwich before speaking. “Jack?”

The kid looks up at him. “Yes?”

“Are you ok? I know these past few weeks haven’t been easy, and I’m sorry for not asking sooner. But now we have time and we can talk, if you want.”

Jack sighs, breaking eye contact. “I-I’ve been thinking and… and I know I can help. I need to help...”

“What do you mean, Jack? You do help! You’ve been helping me so much and-”

“That’s not what I meant. I need to help you find your mother.”

Jack’s words echo in Sam’s mind, stunning him. He certainly hadn’t been expecting that from him.

He blinks a couple times before finally finding his voice again. “What?”

“I’ve been thinking about portals to other words. I know I can open the door again with some practice — like I did with the pencil — but once it’s open, I need help seeing what’s on the other side. I’ve been reading a lot and according to these books I need a dream walker,” Jack explains. Sam stares at him in awe, breath finding its way to his lungs for what feels like the first time in a long time.

_They can save Mary._

“Ok,” Sam says, ghosting a hand over his face. “Ok. So, we find a dream walker.”

“No.” Jack says, stunning Sam once again.

“What?”

“You have to stay here and take care of Dean. I can handle this alone. I need to handle this alone.” Jack takes a deep breath, meeting Sam’s eyes again. “I have to understand my powers, learn how to use them. And I have to do it alone. I’m so sorry.”

Before Sam can protest, Jack is gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam can’t remember much of what happened after that. His first instinct had been to call out for the kid but once he realized how useless that was, he gave up. Cursing under his breath he’d reached for his phone, and all he can recall from that is hurried ‘I’ll keep my eyes out’s and ‘I’ll tell the others’’. His brain just went on auto pilot while the rest of him worked on panicking without setting any alarms off for Dean.

Sure, putting an APB out on Lucifer’s son won’t do much, but there really isn’t any other thing he can do. He could search for a tracking spell, call Rowena for help, but he doubts they’ll get far since Jack does seem to have some sort of natural protection that keeps him hidden (which definitely would explain how they’ve managed to stay under the radar for so damn long). Yes, the kid’s just a kid, but maybe since he’s so inexperienced with the world his first instinct will be to protect himself. Or at least he hopes so.

_What could demons, or angels, or any other creature do to someone like Jack?_

Now, he’s sitting in the library. It’s so eerily quiet he swears he can hear his own heartbeat. His phone sits tightly in his hands as he takes long, deep breaths to calm himself enough to think of next steps.

It’s weird — like a calm in the middle of the damn storm —, and it feels surreal enough for him to wonder if he’s having some kind of out-of-body experience. Except he also knows he’s not because his life is fucked up enough to know what it feels like to be a walking soul.

Suddenly, he gets a text.

He turns to the glowing screen and immediately perks up as Jody’s name glares back at him.

_‘I’ll be there in a few hours.’_

He quickly unlocks the phone to type a rushed answer.

‘ _Thank you, Jody. I really appreciate it but it’s not necessary. I can handle it over here.’_

Not even a couple seconds later another text arrives.

‘ _Sam, I said I’m coming over.’_

~~~

True to her word, Jody knocks on the bunker door in just under 8 hours.

During that time Sam did all he could to avoid telling Dean about Jack without proper sheriff backup. It hadn’t been that hard. Dean still isn’t very warm on the kid, so Sam told him Jack was in his room watching some random movie. They ate lunch, had a couple beers and then Dean went back to his room while Sam dove right into all the angelic lore books the bunker had to offer.

He was in the middle of dusting off an ancient tome he’d found buried in one of the storage rooms when the loud, echoing sound of someone knocking on the heavy metal door startled him. He quickly climbed up the stairs, and as he reached the landing, he heard Dean’s hurried footsteps approach.

“Sam?!” The man whisper-shouted, grimacing at the uncomfortable pull on his stitches. He clicked off the safe on his gun and firmly kept it aimed at the door.

“It’s fine,” Sam said, holding out a placating hand. “It’s just Jody.”

Dean’s grimace turned into a confused frown as Sam unlocked the door. The metal screamed at being disturbed.

As soon as Jody walks inside, she wraps her arms around the taller man, giving him a good squeeze. Sam returned the hug, whispering a ‘thank you for coming’ onto her ear. She just pulls back and smiles at him before carefully walking down the stairs.

“Jody?” Dean whispered, standing agape by the map table.

“Hey, Dean. Mind putting that thing away?” Jody says, pointing at the gun that still sat ready between his hands. He quickly clicked the safe back on and shoved the gun in the waistband of his worn jeans.

Without losing her smile, Jody reached out to hug Dean. The man was still stunned by her presence, but he had enough mind left to hug her back.

“What are you doing here?” He asks once she pulls away. He notices the duffle bag hanging from her shoulder and quickly takes it from her and places it on the table.

“Sam didn’t tell you?” She frowned, looking back at the taller man who now stood by the other end of the table.

Dean turns slightly angry eyes at his brother. “Tell me what?”

Sam sighs, long and hard, before returning Dean’s gaze.

“Jack’s gone. He said some things and flew away-”

“What do you mean he flew away?! I told you to keep an eye on the damn kid! Do you have any idea-?”

“I know, Dean! I know!”

Jody strategically stood between both men, shooting them cautionary glances. “Boys-”

“Oh, yeah? Why did he leave, then? Was killing that security guard not enough for him?! Is he gonna go kill pretty girls now, too? Start a demon army?”

“Dean listen to yourself! Jack’s not going to do any of that!”

“Then what, huh? Come on, uncle Sam! What is little Lucifer planning?!”

“HE’S GOING TO BRING MOM BACK!”

Sam hadn’t meant to yell. He knows Dean, how he always assumes the worst. He should’ve been patient, wait for his brother to get it all out before explaining everything calmly instead of letting frustration get the best of him. But damn, Sam’s so very tired of being patient. He’s hurting too, for fucks sake! He deserves to be cut some slack.

“What?” Dean’s voice is ten times quieter now, clearly trying to process Sam’s words.

Sam drags his eyes from Dean’s to the table next to him. He has to think his next words through. For weeks, the older hunter has been adamant on labelling Jack as a monster and insisting repeatedly that Sam has to accept that Mary is dead – gone forever – and he most likely won’t be a fan of Sam’s decision to go through with the kid’s plan, whatever it is.

There’s a brief pause that feels like a whole eternity. Sam can feel Dean’s eyes burning at the top of his messy, long hair, and the way his brother clenches his fists at his sides, digging his blunt nails into the tender skin of his palms like he usually does whenever he’s trying not to break into a fight with his little brother.

Sam closes his eyes for a few seconds, allowing his mind to stay calm and clear. He realizes this is stupid, hiding things from Dean. The last thing both men need is a fight between the two, which giving the amount of shit they’ve been pushing down lately, would inevitable explode into something bigger and darker and-

**Fuck it.**

“He thinks he can find mom, bring her home.”

Another silence follows, this one heavy and tense. The rumbling of the machines running the bunker is low, and it helps calm Sam’s pounding heart. He can already feel Dean’s protest coming, with much more violence behind the words than it comes with, but still, when that single word hits him, he can’t hold back the need to let that excess energy out somehow.

“Sam-”

“I know, Dean, I know. But he left before I could say anything.” Sam sighs, pulling one of the chairs back and practically throws himself on it. Dean follows him, letting one chair between them to replace Jody as a mediator. The woman just stands back, arms crossed, and waits for the brothers to talk it out.

“Look, I know you don’t think she’s alive. And I understand, this is… it’s too much. Ok, I get it. But Dean, don’t you think that it’s worth a shot? I mean, worst case scenario, we get actual proof that she’s dead and we – _I_ – can move on. But if she’s alive-”

“Is that supposed to be enough to let Satan’s fucking spawn go around opening portals to other worlds?! What if something comes to our world? Or- or Lucifer gets his hands on the kid? Huh? What then?!” Dean’s voice grows unnecessarily loud with each word that leaves him. The fire softly simmering in his chest finally flaming out in a hot burst. His fingernails dig painfully into his meaty palm, and the feeling of warm blood dripping out of the crescent moon-like cuts is oddly satisfying. He looks directly into Sam’s hazel eyes and waits for him to do something, reassure him with that stupid optimism that the worst is already past them and there’s nothing left but to move upwards.

Fuck, he doesn’t know what he would do without that idiotic, annoying reassurance.

“I know! Why do you think I’m freaking out?! Jack said he needed to figure out his powers on his own, and I understand the risk in that. I’m just saying, he’s not evil. His intentions are good and if he succeeds then at least we’ll have some goddamn closure! Isn’t that what you want?”

The last question echoes through Dean’s mind. _What does he want?_ The answer is so simple, yet so difficult because-

“What I want is Lucifer and his son dead! What I want is some fucking stability for once! I want mom and- and Cas back! Even Crowley, damn it! That is what I fucking want!”

Dean waits one, two, three beats before standing up. The heavy wooden chair falls backwards and the loud impact against the floor breaks the angry tension around them. He ignores the sting of his stitches pulling on his skin, and he’s fairly sure a couple have ripped when he feels the warm blood seep through his cotton shirt. He stomps out of the room without looking back.

Sam sighs, knowing his brother can take care of the ruptured stitches on his own. He looks over at Jody and is ready to blurt out apologies when she shakes her head and lays a comforting hand on his shoulder.

~~~

A few hours later him and Jody are slumped over the library tables, piles of lore books littering the place. He blinks and rubs at his eyes trying to get rid of the dust particles that inevitably flew into them as he flipped through the ancient tomes.

“Hey,” Jody’s calm voice is barely audible over the constant hum of machinery that plagued the bunker. “You look exhausted, maybe you should call it a night.”

‘Exhausted’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. He hasn’t been sleeping well, in, well, ever since Lucifer was set free onto the world, _again_. Still, he sighs, long and hard, and tries to protest. “Jody-”

“Sam. You can’t work like this and you know it.”

She’s right, of course. His head isn’t in the right place and he can’t expect himself to make rational decisions when he can barely keep himself upright. Yet the anxiety clawing at the walls of his mind gives him boosts of energy that fire the need to do something. If he could only find some sense of control in this mess, get some new, tangible information, then maybe his mind would finally shut up. But, thanks to Jody, rationality wins this round.

He only becomes aware of just how long it’s been since he threw himself into the uncomfortable library chair when his tense muscles and tired bones scream in protest as he attempts to unglue himself from it. This branch of the Men of Letters managed to collect an impressive number of books on angelic beings, so much so that it seemed endless as book after dusty book landed on the mahogany tables. And still, Sam is positive he’s already read through every single one of them, from the time they were fighting Metatron to just a couple months ago when they were still looking for Kelly Kline.

Back then, he hadn’t been able to find much information he didn’t already know thanks to Cas, much less about Nephilim fathered by an archangel. The only thing he’d found was the usual ‘Nephilim are dangerous, and they should be avoided at all costs.’

Something dark always twists inside him every time he reads things like that. It’s not the kid’s fault they’re created by two different species. They don’t choose this, _Jack didn’t choose this._

Yes, the kid’s done mistakes, like killing that security guard as Dean was so kind to remind him, but haven’t they all? It’s not Jack’s fault that he can’t control his powers and it’s not his fault that there’s no one capable enough to tutor him, teach him how to control himself.

Sam has been doing everything he can to help the kid. And from the way Jack acts towards him he can tell he’s at least been doing something right, but it’s not enough. No, Jack needs something else.

**Someone else.**

But Cas isn’t coming back. The ashy prints of his damaged wings on the white sand back at the cabin were enough to let him know that.

He slowly stands up, stretching his aching muscles and tells Jody about the spare room he’d quickly put together for her. She thanks him and watches as the man walks out down the long hallways of his underground home.

That night, Sam struggles to sleep. He can’t, and he’s pretty sure Dean can’t too. There’s so much in his head he can’t even think straight.

He can’t help but think he’s not panicking as much as he should about Jack being out on his own. Don’t get him wrong, the thought of the kid crossing paths with any monster terrifies the shit out of him, but for some reason he trusts the kid.

Cas, his best friend, gave everything for Jack. And while Kelly did the same, he didn’t know her enough to ensure she was being rational. It was her kid, after all. But Cas… the angel isn’t known for being the best at decision-making under pressure, but he’s learned throughout the years. And while he’d been naïve enough, in the past, to trust someone he shouldn’t have, this time feels different.

Because this time, the angel had set himself on Lucifer without any previous thought.

That stupid, suicidal righteousness that got him killed, it also got him to face his most recent torturer with a braveness Sam has always struggled with. He knows better than anyone how much it takes to face the actual devil once he’s had the chance to get his hands on you.

Cas might’ve been reckless, but his death should be worth something. Just like Kelly and Mary’s sacrifice. Something has to come out of this because surely, after all they’ve been through, the universe owes them at least this much.

He also remembers the way Jack had behaved at the hospital, back when they first dragged a bleeding Dean into the emergency room. The kid had just _murdered_ someone on _accident_. He’d been trying so hard to prove to himself, prove to everyone, that he could be good. That there was a place in the world and, once again, the sacrifices made were worth something.

So yeah, he trusts Jack enough to at least keep himself out of trouble. Sam had read all he could find about Dream Walkers, and how one could help Jack find Mary. With some luck the kid would be able to track one down and convince them to help them out.

And if he doesn’t, at least they have somewhere to move forward to. Jack would’ve had some time alone to put his thoughts together, Dean’s wound would be healed. Hopefully Sam would’ve gotten enough rest to keep his mind running and, with Jody’s iron will and sheriff abilities, they’d surely get somewhere.

They have to. For all of their sakes.


	7. Chapter 7

Three days go by.

In those three days they managed to build a somewhat working routine that kept all of them busy. In the mornings, while Sam went out on his usual run, Dean would shuffle into the kitchen and make breakfast while Jody got the coffee. The sheriff had been insistent at first, telling him she could cook something up for them because _‘damn Winchester, you’re gonna rip those stitches again’_ , but the man was too stubborn for her.

When she mentioned she could at least make some mean black coffee, the man had been weirdly silent. She shrugged it off and set herself as the official bunker barista, lining up cups and mastering one of the only modern machines the underground time capsule had to offer.

After, they ate in silence, got showered and readied themselves for a research session in the library until lunch time.

When Dean felt like he couldn’t subtract any meaning from the ancient books he would get up and rummage through the kitchen for the most elaborate thing he could make. Anything to escape all those words and- _things._

They ate, shared their findings – as insignificant as they were, there could still be something – and resumed the research. Dean would pull out the laptops, run that image search program Charlie had made for them years ago, and just sit and wait for, well, something.

During that time, he would allow himself to think. He hadn’t said much to Sam since their yelling spree. He was still mad about how easily his brother agreed to the kid’s idiotic plan, how he looked calmer than he really should be. If Jody wasn’t there, they’d surely would’ve broken into argument after argument until one or both got too fed up with the other. It’s been a long time since it’s just been the two of them and they’re so unused to it it’s making them go crazy.

He doesn’t let his thoughts go any farther than that. He can’t let his mind wander into such dangerous territory with other people keeping a close eye on him. Whenever they inevitably do mention a certain person or two, he attempts to yawn and stretches over the chair, pulling on his stitches and letting the sharp pain ground him. They should’ve come off days ago, but the constant ripping and poking kept them there.

And then, he’d magically look at the clock and it would be dinner time. Once again, he would stride into the kitchen and cook. And right after avoiding all those dark thoughts, he got to enjoy the process of destroying ingredient after ingredient to build something bigger and greater than all of those separately. After eating, Dean would excuse himself and shuffle back to his room.

It was comforting, how he could slip into that routine and always have something to do or someone to be with. Yeah, the reason why it was all happening resonated deep inside his mind and kept him pushing and shoving to get it done. But this, searching for the impossible, felt too familiar. It was his place, and as hard as it had been, over the years he’s learned to accept it. He’ll never catch a break, and if he has to sacrifice himself for other people’s wellbeing, then so be it.

They’re halfway through day four when a loud beeping pulls him out of his thoughts. He turns to the laptop and finds a match on the program.

~~~

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

Jack sighs, looking down guiltily as Derek nurses his head between his hands. He’d been the first dream walker to agree on talking with him. People with supernatural abilities seem to sense the power radiating from him and prefer to keep themselves at a distance. But Derek saw how desperate and genuine Jack seemed (as well as the bundle of dollar bills he’d held out to him), and he reluctantly agreed to talk. Once Jack told him about his friends and their lost mother, the dream walker decided to help.

Turns out he’s not as powerful as he thought.

“No, I– I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you that far,” Jack says, letting his eyes roam the art studio they’re in, anything to avoid looking at the pained man.

Derek sighs, looking up at Jack. “Well, i do have a weakness for young, lost kids like you.”

He bites his lip, debating whether it’s a good idea to say what he’s thinking, but the words leave his mouth before he can really process it. “Hey, i think I know someone that can help you”. _Damn his burnt, stupid brain._

Jack’s face lights up. “Really? Who?”

Derek stares at Jack long and hard before finally speaking. “Kaia Nieves. She’s my protégé, if you will. She’s brilliant and powerful, _really powerful_ , though it may take some convincing before she agrees to talk to you. Maybe I should talk to her first.”

Jack nods enthusiastically, and it brings a slight smile to Derek’s lips. He reaches for his phone and searches through the contacts list until he finds Kaia’s name. They both listen intently as the phone rings and rings, but the girl never answers.

“Huh, she’s not answering…” Panic blares through him. _What if she had another crisis?_

“Don’t worry. I will find her. Thank you so much for your help. Here’s your pay.” Jack hands him the money, and before Derek can even think of something to say, Jack is gone.

**Shit.**

~~~

“What is that?” Jody asks, making a face at the annoying sound.

Sam leaps out of his seat and practically pounces over the table, nearly knocking Dean off his own chair.

“Sorry,” the taller man mumbles, ignoring the glare Dean shoots at the back of his head as he presses his face onto the bright screen. “It’s an image search program we have. Dean set it to look for Jack in public camera footage around the world.”

Without ungluing frantic eyes from the flashing text, he presses a few keys on the keyboard. Dean leans back, letting his brother do his thing, content to watch the blurry, corrupted file slowly become clearer and clearer. Finally, street camera footage of the kid walking down a busy street in South Dakota is revealed.

“Oh, well, y’all got somethin’?” Jody asks from her place at the other side of the table.

Sam frowns, trying to find something, anything that could lead them to wherever Jack might be going, but there’s nothing. The kid’s just walking down the street with a dumb, self-satisfied smile that sends chills down Dean’s spine.

“We’ve got a location, but nothing too specific.”

~~~

Kaia wasn’t that hard to find. Once Jack got a hold of a computer and ran her name through the system like he’d seen Sam and Dean do before, he found her in a support group registry. He was still learning how to use his wings, though, and he failed landings all over Minnesota until he finally landed gracefully in a broom closet at the correct facilities.

He quickly gathered himself before walking out of the closet, looking around at the different young faces and searching for the same energy he’d sensed coming off Derek. It took him a few minutes, but eventually he was hit with a sudden surge of power that nearly knocked him off his feet. The power radiating from her is strong, much more than Derek’s and so different from others he’s sensed before.

He puts on the best smile he can muster and prepares himself to engage on what movies like to call ‘small talk’, focusing the conversation on the place and time they’re in.

Kaia doesn’t seem too keen on his talk, though. He can sense her trying to get away and, in a panic, decides to go straight to the point.

“Look, I’m a friend of Derek’s. I know who you are – _what_ you are – and I need your help.”

“What?” Kaia looks him up and down, taking a step back.

Jack’s mouth twists into his own awkward version of a reassuring smile. “He said you’re very powerful. I- I can get you out of here.”

Kaia looked around at the depressing white walls and those junkies that always looked at her with such pity in their eyes. She’s the youngest one here, having been forced to attend the group sessions after a particularly rough encounter in the bad place. She hadn’t meant to, but it had been too much. She overdosed on the drugs she kept for emergencies, thinking of nothing but getting rid of the nightmares and the pain.

She knows she can’t keep living this way and she has to find something, someone to help her. Derek has been so kind, taking her under his wing and giving her advice on how to manage the nightmares, but it isn’t enough. And she sure as hell ain’t getting better by being forced to understand other people’s struggles and sympathise with them when they have absolutely no idea of what it’s like to close your eyes and see-

“How?”

Jack’s twisted smile widened. “This way. Follow me.”

And just like that, the kid used some kind of magic touch to knock down people and undo the locks on the back exit. Alarms start to go off, red lights flashing all around her, and she quickly follows Jack outside, crossing the parking lot and coming to a stop behind a big tree.

She’s out.

_She’s free._

~~~

Sam remains bent over the mahogany table, unwilling to leave the laptop screen as more and more footage of the kid walking around random streets flashes before him. As time goes by, the kid’s face changes to one of what he can only guess is confusion, with some slight anger on the side.

Whatever he’s doing out there, it doesn’t seem to be working out like the kid had planned.

Is that really a surprise, though? Jack’s barely even seen the outside world. It’s a damn miracle he hasn’t got himself in trouble yet.

Except, as he comes to realize fifteen minutes later, he spoke – or, well, thought – too soon.

New footage appears of him running out of a group house with a girl. He quickly opens a new tab and searches the place, almost crying at the location.

“Hey, Jody? Could you please call Donna? I think we’ve got something.”

~~~

Jack breathes out, long and hard, before turning to Kaia.

“Ok. I need you to-”

“Look, I appreciate the break out, I really do, but I can’t help you. I don’t know what Derek said, I’m not-” She’s interrupted when Jack grabs a hold of her arm, pulling her towards him.

“No, you don’t understand!” He says, raising his voice.

“What are you doing?! Let go of me you creep!” She turns to him and lands a strong punch to his jaw. He lets go of her and she immediately breaks into a sprint to get as far away from him as she can.

Unfortunately for her, Jack shakes himself before effortlessly catching up with her. They’re running behind some old buildings a few blocks away when Jack finally corners her in the least threatening way he can manage being only a few months old and having had real social interactions with only a handful of people.

Kaia naturally recoils from him, looking to throw another punch. Except this time Jack manages to capture her fist mid-air.

“What do you want?” Kaia’s shaky voice asks.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I just need your help,” Jack says, his pleading eyes never leaving hers.

“Why would you want my help?! I- I’m a nobody! I can’t even help myself!”

“What do you mean?” Jack asks, frowning.

“What do I…?! Look, kid, you don’t know what it’s like. No one does. Every time I close my eyes I go to the bad place. I get beat up and I can’t stop it, I can’t stop _them_ and the only thing I can do is put all that shit in my body because I just can’t handle it anymore!” she sighs shakily, ghosting her shaking hands over her face.

“Kaia… I understand what it’s like to have powers you can’t control. I know how difficult it is to stop yourself from hurting others, from hurting yourself. But I know it can’t all be evil, it just can’t. We can use our powers for good.”

Kaia scuffs at him, looking around the solitary park.

“Really. Just. Let me show you.” He reaches a hand up to her temple. She leans back, ready to run away again. “Please. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Kaia looks up at him hard, evaluating her options before sighing loudly, letting Jack place his fingertips on her temple.

A bright, golden light takes over her vision before it clears out, revealing a beautiful-

Fantastic-

_Amazing-_

It’s all too much and at the same time it’s not enough. She wants to see more, jump into the illusion currently running through her mind and at the same time she wants to go back to-

To nothing.

Jack slowly pulls her back, letting her process what just happened. It often surprised him how slow most human minds are, but he guesses this is why most of them aren’t exposed to the supernatural.

“Who… _what_ are you?” she asks, desperately trying to get her breath back.

“I’m a Nephilim. My mother was human and my father… an archangel.”

Kaia looks up at him in awe, still having trouble processing what had just happened. She stares at him for a couple seconds before nodding, fixing a few stray hairs behind her ear before finally speaking up.

“What do you want me to do?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, it worked? You opened the right portal?”

Just as Jody reaches out for her phone, it starts ringing. A chill goes down her spine when Donna’s name glares back at her.

“Donna?” She answers, putting the phone on speaker.

“Hey, Jods! Ummm, are the boys there with you?” There’s a slight tremble in her usually cheerful voice.

“What is it?” Dean urges from his place at the table, glaring screens completely forgotten.

“Well, there’s good news and bad news.”

Sam’s breath catches in his throat.

“The good news is, I found the boy.”

“And the bad news?” Jody asks, eyeing Sam.

“He kinda just broke a girl out of a rehab facility. This, uh, Kaia Nieves, 19 years old, been jumping around foster homes, got put in there after an overdose on- oh jeez. And, uh, there’s a swarm of cops out looking for them as we speak.”

“Shit.” Sam curses under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “She must be a dream walker.”

Dean snorts. “If that’s what you call getting high off your damn mind.”

Sam grimaces at his brother’s attempt to add humour to the situation.

“I’ll send y’all the details. Might as well tell Claire to meet me in the area.”

With that, she hangs up. There’s a brief pause while Sam regulates his breathing and Jody processes Donna’s words.

“So,” Dean’s raspy voice breaks the heavy silence. “Who’s up for a drive.”

~~~

The 8-hour drive to Minnesota is full of tense silence and occasional side glances. Dean had practically jumped at the chance to get behind Baby’s wheel, very audibly sighing as he settled in the familiar front seat and pointedly ignored his brother’s annoyingly concerned glares. He’s told himself this is exactly what he needs, and nothing will stop him from basking in the familiarity of hitting the road. Just him, Sam, Jody and the purr of Baby’s engine being drowned by whatever random tape he pulled out of the battered box sitting by Sam’s feet.

Sam just sat back, trying – and failing – to get somewhat comfortable while allowing his eyes to shift between the open road before him and the white-knuckled grip Dean had on the steering wheel. Occasionally he would remember Jody sitting quietly behind him, looking absentmindedly out the window. The sheriff could feel his eyes on her through the rear-view mirror and after a few seconds she quietly nodded at him, grounding him and chasing away the anxiety-riddled thoughts that filled the man’s mind.

He couldn’t help thinking about what they’d do once they arrive at the rehab centre. They’d already discussed the basics. Sam and Dean would go in and flash their fake badges while Jody met up with Claire and remained on the lookout outside of the place. Of course, when informed about the plan, Claire had tried to protest, but a firm glare from Jody and a trademarked Sam Winchester’s Puppy-Eyed Look had been enough to shut her down. Really, those two can do wonders, even through a computer screen.

After a heated discussion, when she finally allowed herself to think about it, it made sense. They had no idea of what Jack and this Kaia girl’s whereabouts could be and they needed all the resources they could get. If interviewing possible witnesses and bystanders would get them the intel, so be it.

Shifting in his seat uncomfortably, Sam couldn’t stop his thoughts from evolving into concerned ‘what if’s’. What if they don’t reach Jack on time? What if the kid opens the portal and goes through? What if something goes wrong and he ends up at the wrong place? What if this Kaia girl finds a way to betray him? What if-?

Ever since he was conceived, Heaven and Hell have been stepping on each other’s talons trying to get to Jack. Even though he has that supernatural, magical shield protecting him, opening a rift through space and time to reach another world seems like enough to attract just about everyone’s attention. Not knowing the kid’s exact location makes his worry worse and how he didn’t think of this before, he doesn’t know.

And his mom? How is Jack supposed to find her when the kid has never met her before? Not really. There’s no way the Nephil will be able to track her down in such a dangerous, war-riddled world. Much less with Lucifer-

What if Lucifer gets to him first?

**Fuck.**

When they finally arrive at the place, Sam practically leaps out of his seat. Him and Dean take care of the interviews, making sure to get to every single person that so much as saw the kids for a split second. And as thorough as they are, they don’t find out anything they don’t already know. Jack and Kaia left through the back door, had an argument, and broke off running across the parking lot before disappearing. Security personnel had looked for them, but their mediocre attempts got them no clues on their whereabouts.

Meanwhile Jody met up with Claire, who’d already been walking around the small-town showing pictures of the two runaways, asking if they’d been seen. She joined her, but all they got were a couple vague shoves to a few parts of town, but nothing worth checking out.

The brothers eventually joined them once they figured they wouldn’t get anything new. They changed into their usual worn-jeans-plaid-shirt attire to look more accessible and started asking every single person they ran into if they’d seen the two kids. Their strategy of gaining sympathy from the people by claiming Jack was their nephew who’d ran off with his girlfriend only earned them pitiful looks and ‘they’ll come back, just you wait’ ’s.

Frustration grew by the minute and just as Sam thought he might explode, Claire found something.

“Guys?” She said, staring down a back road. “That building, it’s the only abandoned place around.”

Jody opened her mouth to say something when her phone vibrated in her pocket. She sighed and picked it up, throwing apologetic looks at the boys. She didn’t even bother on checking the caller’s ID before pressing her phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Jody? It’s me, Patience.” The girl’s agitated voice vibrated through the speaker.

“Patience! Are you ok?” Jody asked.

Patience hesitated for a few seconds. “No. I, uh, I had another vision.”

“What was it about?”

“A girl, curly hair, tan skin and a tall, pale boy. They were in some kind of abandoned room and- and the guy’s eyes glowed gold and then there was some light. I- I don’t know how or why but-”

“Patience, I’m going to need to call you later. Thank you for telling me this,” Jody said, shooting a panicked look at Sam.

“Please be careful,” was all she heard before hanging up and following Claire and the boys down the gravely road into what looked like an old library.

They ran faster than they’ve done in years, calling out for Jack, but by the time they reached the building, it was too late. The rift was open, and Jack was carefully settling Kaia on the floor next to it.

“Jack?!” Sam all but screamed. The kid turned to him, smiled and approached the rift.

“I’ll be back soon,” Jack promised, confidently stepping inside.

Sam’s breath caught in his throat painfully. “No!” He ran to the centre of the room where the rift pulsed with energy. Dean followed close, ready to-

He doesn’t know. But it doesn’t matter anyways because as soon as Jack walks through, the portal closes. A blinding golden light was all they got before the room fell into silent darkness. They looked around, searching frantically for something, anything, but to no avail.

Jack was gone.

“SON OF A BITCH!” Dean yelled out. He fell to his knees, holding his head between his hands as he tried to gather himself. His breathing was ragged, and little dots plagued his vision. **No, he can’t pass out now, he must do something**. But he doesn’t know what, and he doesn’t know _why_ because with the kid gone, trapped inside that other universe with his mom and with Lucifer and-

They’re royally fucked.

Sam found himself in a similar position, kneeling next to where the portal had been standing just a few moments ago, muttering curses under his breath. He hears his own voice scream inside his mind. _Jack can’t be gone. He just can’t. There is no way he can just open a rift for himself so easily._

Except, he can. After all, he’s Lucifer’s kid. Armed with archangel grace in the form of primordial energy mixed with a human soul. Last time he checked, human souls are powerful enough on their own when used right and-

A soft groan pulls them out of their thoughts.

Kaia slowly recovers her consciousness and is immediately bombarded with questions from Claire. Jody holds her back, not wanting to scare off the only person who can tell them something they don’t know. But Kaia was already hesitant with Jack and having all these strangers poking and prodding did nothing but scare her off more.

“Did he say anything about that place? What he was going to do in there?” Claire asked, searching Kaia’s eyes.

“No! I don’t know, ok?! He just wanted me to help him see what rift he was opening and- “

Claire turned to Jody for a second before looking back at Kaia. “So, it worked? You opened the right portal?”

Kaia blinked. “I- I don’t know! He just jumped into my head and made me search for that awful place! I don’t know what he was looking for!”

“What did he tell you, exactly? How did he convince you to do this? Did he pay you or something?”

“Enough!” Dean grits out. All three girls cautiously turn to him.

Dean’s visually shaking, clearly struggling to stand up straight. His hands are balled up in fists by his sides and his eyes are glazed over with rage and desperation. It seems to take all the energy he has left to walk a few steps forward towards them, and when he’s just a few feet away from them he pauses.

He takes a few ragged breaths before speaking. “Do you know _anything_ useful?” He asks, staring down at Kaia. She shakes her head, clearly intimidated by him. Jody and Claire remain frozen in place, scared of whatever’s going through the man’s head.

Sam stands back unsure of what to do.

The seconds seem to slow down before Dean finally sighs, his whole body hunching over in defeat. “Ok” He takes a few breaths before looking back down at them. “You’re coming with us,” he says, pointing at Kaia before turning around and walking towards the exit.

~~~

The travel back to the bunker is exponentially worse. Jody tried to get Dean to let her drive, but he wouldn’t have any of it.

No, he needed to drive. He needs something, anything familiar he can trust. The sound of the engine, the feel of the steering wheel, the smell, everything he’s ever known right here. He needs it as a reminder of what he has because the urge to run into a divider is back, maybe even stronger than the last time since, right now, he can’t even look at Sam without seeing his very own desperate rage buzzing through him.

He looks at the empty road before him and has to remind himself of the girls sitting behind him acting like a lifeline to all the thoughts screaming into his head. He vaguely remembers a time during the first apocalypse when he felt similar things holding him down, except this time he doesn’t have Bobby to yell some sense into him and he definitely doesn’t have a stupid fucking angel to-

He doesn’t have anything left except for his brother and his car.

There was a time where that used to be enough. Back when they’d lost their dad and had just gotten out into the road after spending weeks hauled up at Bobby’s. It used to be just the two of them against the world and somehow, he got by. But the moment he opened himself to others, he was fucked. Every single person that crossed paths with his stupid ass ended up the same. Either dead or incredibly fucked over, all thanks to him.

No one bothers to mention that they haven’t eaten anything all day, instead choosing to thread gently through the extremely fragile atmosphere that built itself inside the car. Kaia curls up against the car door, trying to make herself as small as possible and Claire wonders what’s going through her head.

They did basically just abduct her.

But Claire knows she’s got nowhere to go. She’d read through the girl’s files and there was no registry of a home somewhere. There were just a few foster homes here and there, nothing permanent. She was an orphan, much like herself, but it didn’t seem like she had someone to call family like Claire had Alex and Jody and the brothers and-

It might be broken now, but there has to be a way to fix her family. There’s no way she’s ending up alone again. And there’s no way she’s letting someone else live through the shit she had to go through.

They arrive at the bunker late at night, both Sam and Dean rush to their respecting rooms and lock themselves up for the night. Jody and Claire help set Kaia up, warning her about the dangers of the bunker.

And Kaia is left with no other option but to comply.

She tries to convince herself that it’s not too bad. That it’s better than the stupid rehab centre where she was forced to handle the same pitiful looks all day long only to be left alone in the dark at night with no other choice but to close her eyes and go to the bad place.

Tonight, she settles in the old, single bed. She buries her body under the blankets and prays that the creatures don’t find her.

And it seems like someone heard her because as soon as she closes her eyes she’s met with another world. It’s dark, and noisy, but it’s different than the Bad Place. She recognises it as the place where that Jack kid had wanted her to see. Thunder and lightning take over the grey sky above her as she walks across the sand. Weird pointy things stick out of the ground and she wonders just what the actual fuck is going on in that place.

All night long, she walks and walks and just as she thinks she finds an old cabin in the distance, she wakes up feeling more rested than ever.

She lays in bed for a while, trying to figure out what happened. All her life she’s been trapped in the Bad Place, always running, never leaving, every single night. But tonight, just as she’s gotten herself involved in this mess, the whole place changes to a deserted warzone and she has no idea if she should be relieved or scared.

Suddenly there’s a knock on the door, and the blonde girl walks in.

“Hey,” she says, staying by the doorway. “Breakfast’s ready.”

Kaia eyes her for a few seconds before hesitantly pulling the sheets out of the way and following the girl out into the bunker. She can’t help but look around the place in awe. It looks old, way old, with machines she’d never known existed littering the place. The décor was even worse, and she wondered just how the Hell did these people manage to get electricity in the joint.

“It’s cool, isn’t it?” Claire says once she notices what Kaia’s doing.

“I guess,” Kaia mutters, avoiding Claire’s eyes.

“Still, I don’t think I’d be able to actually live in this place. Don’t know how Sam and Dean manage. After a while you start feeling trapped, it’s not great”

They walk into the kitchen where Jody is scrambling eggs by the industrial sized stove. Claire grabs a plate for Kaia and one for herself and settles them on the table by the corner. Kaia, still hesitant, takes a seat in front of her and stares blankly at the eggs. Claire tries not to stare at her, focusing on her own food until Kaia’s stomach finally betrays her and she starts shoving eggs into her mouth.

“I’ll go take these to the boys,” Jody says, holding a steaming plate on each hand. She eyes the girls for a few seconds before exiting the kitchen.

Claire clears her throat, looking around awkwardly once they find themselves alone.

“So, what’s it like being a dream walker?” She asks, getting Kaia’s attention.

Kaia exhales loudly, taking a sip of orange juice. “Not fun.”

Claire frowns. “Why?”

Kaia finally looks up at her and is surprised to see actual curiosity on them.

“Every time I close my eyes at night I go to the same place. The Bad Place. And… and I get chased down by these creatures. They never leave me alone,” Kaia said, reaching up to settle a few strands of curly hair behind her ear. Her sweatshirt rides up a bit, exposing a few vertical scars on her arms.

“Is that how you got those?” Claire asks, pointing at Kaia’s arm.

Kaia looks down, pulling on her sleeves to cover the scars. “Yeah. I’ve got more of them, all over.”

“Me too,” Claire says, making her look up at her again. She pulls her leg over the table and pulls her jeans up to reveal a bite mark on her ankle. “This? Ghoul bite.”

Kaia raises her eyebrows, eyeing the scar. Claire carefully lets her leg back down, pulling on the collar of her t-shirt to reveal vertical scars similar to Kaia’s on her shoulder.

“And this? Bar fight with a vamp. It threw me out of a window,” she says, a proud smile on her face. Kaia mirrors her smile, huffing out a tiny laugh at how ridiculous this girl’s life seems to be. She notices a small scar on the girl’s forehead and leans over the table to poke at it.

“And this one?” She asks, keeping her eyes glued to the crooked line.

“Heroic battle… with a door knob.” Kaia’s smile widens, and Claire can’t help herself but mirror it. They stare at each other, wondering how their crazy lives got so tangled.

But as soon as it happened, Claire finds herself sobering up. “Kaia.”

Kaia’s smile twitches, and she finds herself fumbling with the sleeves of her sweatshirt once more.

“Do you really not know anything about Jack’s plan?” Claire asked.

Kaia sighs, looking down. “No. I’m sorry. He just said he wanted me to ‘be his eyes’ and search for this specific place.”

Claire’s eyes remained glued to hers. “What was the place like?”

“Bad. Much better than the Bad Place, but still bad. It was like a dessert, with big pointy things coming up from the ground. And the sky was so dark, with thunder and lightning all over it.”

“Did you see anyone there?”

“No. It was empty. But…” She hesitated, wondering if she should be saying this out loud.

“But what?” Claire urged her. She didn’t sound threatening, just genuinely concerned about whatever Jack planned on doing.

Kaia sighed. “I- I dreamed about that place, last night. It’s the first time I’ve been to another place that isn’t the Bad Place. And I think there was a cabin with people, but I’m not sure. I woke up before I could find out.”

Claire took a few seconds to process this. “So, what? You’re tuned in to this place now? Are you going to visit it every night from now on?”

“I don’t know. I should as Derek about it.”

Just then Jody walks back into the kitchen, her face blank.

“How are they?” Claire asked, turning to her adoptive mom.

Jody sighed, leaning against the counter. “Not good.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But now, looking into Sam’s eyes, she understands that there’s more to her powers than she knows. She can do something here, something useful and good. There’s more to this curse she was born with, and she’s willing to understand what that more can be.

Jack’s tired.

All around him there’s nothing but sand and darkness; he doesn’t like it. Above him, what he knows aren’t just thunder and lightning take over the grey sky and rattle his bones with every passing second. The air is dry, and his human body begs for a glass of water.

_And he doesn’t like it._

He’s been walking for quite a while now, his hair and clothes completely covered in thin, pale sand and his shoes, well… Every step brings him closer and closer to despair. This is the first time in his very short life that he’s truly been alone, without anyone he knows or trusts to keep him company.

_And he really, really doesn’t like it._

So far there’s been nothing around him other than the occasional demon corpse impaled on one of those weird, pointy things inserted into the ground. If he didn’t know better, he’d say they look like those silver blades Sam and Dean carry around on hunts. ‘Angel blades’, he recalls them calling those things. But that was as much as he’s heard about angels from the brothers. It’s hard getting either of them to answer any of his questions (specially Dean), including but not limited to those including angel stuff.

He knows they choose to ignore the topic to spare themselves of digging out the grief they so desperately try to bury, but it frustrates him that he can’t know about it. He’s half archangel, after all, and it’s not fair that he can’t know about a part of himself. As the days have gone by, he’s come to understand that most thigs about life are not fair. Like right now, for example.

He’s been walking for so, so long, and there hasn’t been any signs of life around him other than the battles being fought above him.

What if this isn’t the right world?

Except it can’t be because he was the one who opened it that first time. He didn’t know what he was doing, back then. Hell, he was a little busy being born. But he was very much aware. He knew something was happening and he saw what it was. He saw the rift and he saw the sand and listened to the thunder and-

And he knows he’s here.

But it never really occurred to him that this other world would be just as big as the one he comes from. He knew he’d have to set off into finding Mary once he got there, but he never imagined it would be this hard. His wings twitched behind him, but he was too scared to dare open them and make his search easier. He knew the moment his angelic presence could be sensed, a number of both angels and demons would follow after him.

It feels like days, weeks, go by before he finally catches a light in the distance. His stomach rumbles with the need for sustenance even though his grace is more than enough to keep him going for a very long time. He blinks and squints against the sand that threatens to ruin his eyesight and sure enough, there’s what looks like an old cabin sitting in the middle of the deserted land.

He knows he can’t trust it. It’s too good to be true. But he’s spent so long with _nothing_ , there’s no way he’s not checking it out.

Besides, it’s reasonable to want to go in. Maybe, if Mary was in the same situation, she would have jumped at the first refuge she could find. She could be waiting in there, alone and scared just like him.

With a deep breath, he forced his feet to move faster. The closest he got to the place the more details he could make out. It wasn’t a cabin, not really. The energy oozing from it reminded him of what he felt whenever they drove past a church or any other holy site while riding on the Impala or when he held on to a wooden cross.

His grace stood up straight and the feathers in his wings rustled in the empty plane he instinctively kept them. The urge to go inside and see what hid behind the war-torn walls blinded him and without thinking he busted in.

A blurry figure pinned him to the ground while another one interrogated him.

“Who the fuck are you? How did you get here?”

And God, did Jack **not like it.**

With a flash of golden light, he felt a surge of energy leave him and two bodies collided with the old wooden walls of the place. For a fraction of a second Jack could’ve swore this planet Earth stopped rotating in the emptiness of space.

He looked around what used to be a church, the remains of porcelain figures and candle sticks littering the floor of the place.

“…help me…”

A quiet voice coming from the back of the church startled him. The wind picked up outside, rattling the old decaying structure around him. Behind what used to be the altar, a whole in the wall caught his attention. With slight hesitation, he dared walk behind it.

The light was faint as small white streaks leaked between the wood panels in the room. With a mighty squint Jack was able to make out the small, almost empty room. At the centre of it stood a rusted metal cage. It was long, hanging from the ceiling by a single metal chain and stopping only a few inches off the ground. As he got closer, he realised, horrified, that the cage was human-shaped, and inside, a woman was forced to stand.

She was panting, most likely from exhaustion and pain, and Jack had to swallow down bile as the smell of blood invaded his human nostrils. Metal spikes dug into the poor woman’s skin and her clothes were torn and covered in sticky blood, sweat and sand. How could she still be alive?

Amazingly, Jack could make out her incoherent mumbles, pleading under her breath to be spared of the torture. Somehow, some way, Jack just _knew_ this woman was none other than Mary Winchester.

~~~

“So, you really don’t know anything?”

A sigh resonated through the phone speakers. “No, Kaia. I’m sorry. As I’ve said before, I’ve never known anyone as powerful as you. To me, it doesn’t go any farther than lucid dreams on acid.”

Kaia rubbed her forehead, glaring daggers into the phone. “And you don’t know anyone else that could help?”

“No. You know that. Our numbers are extremely limited,” Derek said. “Look, I wish I had the answers. I could’ve helped you a long time ago, but I swear I don’t. All I know are old stories my grandfather used to tell me when I was a kid.”

It’s Claire’s turn to sigh loudly. “Well, thanks for the help. If you remember anything useful, anything at all, call us.”

“Will do,” and with that, Derek hangs up.

Kaia scowled at the phone as if it had personally offended her. She’s been dreaming of this new world for three nights in a row now, and every time she lands in the same damn place. She walks and walks and when she finally reaches the cabin, she wakes up. It’s definitely better than the Bad Place, but in no way is it less unnerving.

One of the men, Sam, sat hunched over in one of the library’s tables surrounded by old lore books. Ever since Claire and Kaia mentioned her new dreaming habit, he’d planted himself in the library researching everything he could about dream walking and other worlds. He didn’t know how it hadn’t occurred to him to investigate this before, but now it’s all he can focus his exhausted mind on.

 _At least he left his room,_ Claire thinks. If it weren’t for her and Jody, the man would’ve locked himself in and eventually died of starvation. Dean, on the other hand…

She hasn’t seen the man in three days. His door is always locked, and even though she has the suspicion that he steps out for a few minutes in the middle of the night, she hasn’t been able to corner him and demand he eats or something. It’s really scaring her to the point where she’s ready to beg Alex and Donna to show up and help peer pressure outside his room or something.

Claire doesn’t want to push him, though, so she decides to station herself in the library with Kaia doing whatever research they can do.

Jody still makes Dean food, and miraculously the man does open the door for her, only to take the plate from her hands and nod absentmindedly in her direction. He doesn’t seem to be aware of the fact that his movements have gone slow, and his eyes are glazed over with a grey, lifeless sheen. His lips are so chapped and faded and the usual stubble on his face has evolved into a terrible unkept beard. He thinks he’s moving his mouth to utter a grateful remark at the woman, a desperate attempt not to entirely push the woman away, but it only comes off as a slight twitch of his upper lip.

In fact, Dean’s gone completely mute by now.

He doesn’t realize this. He spends most of the day sitting on his desk, pretending to sort through his mess while his head is lost in tender memories of happier times. His mind is so overwhelmed the only thing he can do is dissociate, escape from the situation. The few seconds he spends out of it are spent wondering what the others could be doing outside. Most likely going through dead ends.

Eventually, his hazy brain betrays him and in the blink of an eye he finds himself in the middle of the kitchen attempting to make himself a peanut butter sandwich.

“Hey, Dean.” Jody greets him as casually as she can manage, keeping her face neutral. She doesn’t want to scare him off and judging by the little jump the hunter gave and the way he looked around him it wouldn’t take much for him to run off again. “I picked up some jerky earlier. It’s on the counter.”

She fills a glass of water for herself and quietly shuffles out of the kitchen.

Dean stands there, still struggling to take everything in. Struggling.

These days, everything is a struggle.

It’s not like it wasn’t before. Heck, growing up on the road is difficult as it is, but adding the threat of the supernatural biting his ass? All those apocalypses he’s been dragging on for years? It’s never been a walk in the park. And even then, whenever he had to remind himself to take every breath, take every step, there was something or someone pushing him to do so.

Now, though? He’s never felt more alone in his life. Yes, Sam is there, and the girls, but as much as he would like to, they’re not enough. Nothing will ever be enough after losing everything like he did.

He finishes his pathetic attempt at a sandwich and silently shuffles back to his room, thankful that no one other than Jody seems to notice his presence.

That night, like many others before, he wakes up in a panic. It’s only been a couple months, it shouldn’t be possible, yet-

He keeps forgetting their faces. Their voices. Their smiles.

He sits up on his bed and closes his eyes, curling in on himself as he tries to remember. He wrecks his brain for every single memory he can find, anything that can return the images where they belong inside his heart. He doesn’t even notice the way his body trembles as sobs threat to tear through his lungs and it takes him an agonizingly long time of sorting through painful memories before it all comes back to him.

Relief washes over him, and it’s so overwhelming he doesn’t even react when a question flashes through his brain:

**What if this is the last time he remembers?**

Lately he’s caught himself forgetting his own birthday, even Sam’s, and while forgetting himself back when he’d been cursed by that witch had been terrifying, this is much worse. It’s the same concept, the same pain, but it’s infinitely different this time around.

Not knowing who he was, what he’d done, it had been more of a relief than a pain, hurting only when he was made aware of what was happening to him. Other than that, he basked in blissful ignorance. His thoughts never got farther from what he was looking at on the TV or how weird Rowena and Sam’s hair was. He felt innocent and pure, like he used to be like before his mother burned on the ceiling.

But this feels different. He remembers, and he’s aware, but at the same time he’s not. He remembers their names, the way Cas would walk into a room and always greet him with the same stupid ‘Hello, Dean’ or the way Mary would pat his arm whenever they walked past each other in the bunker hallways. But he also forgets the way Cas’ awkward smile looked like under the yellow lights of the bunker, or how Mary’s blonde hair curled just above her shoulders.

Hell, he even forgets about Crowley’s stupid accent.

And it always hurts the same because he can make out vivid images on his mind every time he closes his eyes, but whenever he tries to look for something specific it’s like a fog slowly creeps up over the memories and slowly takes them away.

He doesn’t want to accept it, but he knows that sooner or later the memories will eventually fade into distant feelings attached to crumpled-up pictures buried deep inside his drawers.

~~~

A couple nights later Claire is woken up by a frantic Kaia.

“Hey! Hey, what’s wrong?” Claire asks, reaching for the knife she keeps under her pillow.

“I- I saw him!” It’s all Kaia can say, eyeing the knife nervously. Claire carefully places it back under the pillow, sitting up on the bed and patting the space next to her. Kaia hesitantly sits, her eyes lingering on the pillow before rising to Claire’s face.

“Who? Jack?” Claire asks, frowning.

“Yes!”

Claire’s eyes widen, sleep leaving her completely. She searches Kaia’s eyes before asking: “Are you ok?”

“I-yes. It’s not like in the bad place, they’re not trying to kill me,” she says, pulling her knees towards her chest.

“They?”

Kaia nodded. “They tried to attack him, but he fought them off and…”

“And what?” Claire asked as softly as she could manage. She didn’t want to put any pressure on Kaia, knowing it must be very hard for her to cope with everything that’s been going on, but they’ve gone too long without any real clues and it’s starting to lower their hopes more and more.

“…I think he found her.”

It’s not even ten minutes later when they’ve managed to gather both Sam and Jody in the bunker’s library. They’re all drained and exhausted, dark bags weighing down their eyes as their tired brains try to process Claire’s excited blabbering.

“You saw them? You actually saw Jack with- with my mom?” Sam asked. He leaned forward on his seat as he looked up at Kaia with a faint glint of hope that had the girl’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Is she ok? How did you-“

“I don’t know, ok? I just- I saw him walk into this crumbling church thing and two guys tried to attack him but he- he sent them flying across the room like it was nothing! And- your mom, I think, they were keeping her in a cage. Jack saw her and- and then I woke up.”

Jody’s eyes shifted from Kaia to Claire. Her daughter nodded at her, letting her know that she trusted in everything Kaia was saying.

The two girls had grown close these past few days, and Jody could see something warm and safe building between them. It’s different from what Claire and Alex have. There’s an evident lack of sibling rivalry between them and the way that they look at each other is just-

Jody can’t say she’s surprised. Claire’s protective personality mixed with Kaia’s iron will could only make them either deathly enemies or interesting… From what she’s seen from Kaia she can tell they can trust her. She’s just another teenage girl stuck in the middle of monsters and tragedy. And her attitude has more than earned her a place in Jody’s heart. She can’t say she doesn’t have a weakness for wayward girls, but she’s glad their paths have met like this. Of course, she’d wish the circumstances were different, much more different, but it still warms her heart after being a witness to the brothers’ heartache for so long.

“A cage? What- Ok, ok.” Sam takes a deep breath, closing his eyes while trying to stop his racing mind from messing up his thoughts. “So, you can see them. Is there any way you can dream walk without sleeping?”

Kaia shrugs. “I mean it is called dream walking for a reason. I’ve never heard of anyone who can just do it at will. Believe me, if I knew, I would’ve saved myself from a lot.”

Sam nods absentmindedly. “Ok. I think we have enough African dream root to last a few days,” he mutters. His eyes dance around the wall in front of him and his legs start bouncing up and down underneath the table.

“African what?” Claire asks, eyeing Sam.

“African dream root,” Sam says, his eyes glued to a spot over Claire’s shoulder. “Helps you get into other people’s dreams.”

“Woah wait a second!” Kaia’s eyes widened, and she took a step back. “You want to get in my head?!”

“It’ll just be me.” Sam’s eyes finally met hers, and the way the bags under them bruised up and stood out over his pale skin and dark beard made him look ten years older. “Please. I need to see them.”

The sincerity in his voice struck her right in the chest. The man was practically begging her, bearing himself out to a teenage girl he barely knows, trusting her because he has nothing else left.

Kaia has never felt useful in her life. Ever since she was old enough to understand why she seemed to be having nightmares every night, she accepted the fact that she could never aspire to be more than a burden for everyone around her. When her parents died, courtesy of a mysterious car accident, she was shoved around for a while. Psychologist after psychologist tried to get her to talk, and they always said the same thing. The nightmares were trauma-related, a sad consequence to the sudden death of her parents. And for a long time, she accepted it. She saw the logic in their words and just went along with it, anything to get them off her case.

But then it got worse. The creatures from the Bad Place started chasing her down. They would claw at her arms and leave teeth marks on her shoulders and ankles. And every night she would wake up in cold sweat, her sheets covered in blood and weird gashes littering her skin. One of the psychologists finally pulled her aside. He was a witch, and he knew she was a dream walker. He’d explained everything he knew about it, and then he’d given her Derek’s e-mail. She couldn’t remember the doc’s name, but she’d been grateful to finally being able to put a name to the thing that kept tormenting her. Still, it wasn’t enough.

That’s when she met Kenny, her first drug dealer. The guy had lost his mom to a robbery gone wrong, and he’d never met his dad. He would sell her pills for cheap in exchange for food she’d steal from the cafeteria. She didn’t want to know how he got them in the first place, but it didn’t seem to matter once she managed a descent night without getting torn apart in her own mind.

She never used the drugs often, only when it got really bad and she felt desperate for a break. She knew what those things did to her body, and she despised the fact that they seemed to be the only escape she had left. But it started getting worse and worse and Derek didn’t know how to help her. It got so bad that, in a fit of desperate anger, she downed a whole bottle of pills. When she recovered consciousness, she was tied down to a hospital bed, bandages covering her arms and legs. Doctors assumed she’d done it all to herself, and as much as she’d told them she didn’t want to off herself, they ignored her and forced her to go through their stupid program. That’s how she’d found herself at that rehab place, surrounded by pathetic junkies.

She’d thought that would be the rest of her life, running away from the monsters in her head and hoping she didn’t end up in another hospital.

But now, looking into Sam’s eyes, she understands that there’s more to her powers than she knows. She can do something here, something useful and _good._ There’s more to this curse she was born with, and she’s willing to understand what that more can be.

Her eyes shift to Claire’s for a split second before returning to Sam’s.

“Fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked this chapter! I'm working really hard on the last details but i'm not sure i'll be able to finish on time. Uploads might become once a week insteado of once every two days. Thank you so much for your support, and remember that comments are greatly appreciated! Also, come say hi on Tumblr @call-it-a-miracle !!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then they just sit in silence, feeling less alone with the other’s company.

Sam has been hovering outside of Dean’s room for almost thirty minutes now. The mason jar containing the African dream root tea mixture felt heavy in his sweaty hands as it sloshed around their glass prison in a calming gesture. Sam’s eyes followed the movements, willing the gears in his mind to turn faster and give him a goddamn answer already.

Should he just knock on the door, burst in and hope Dean has enough clarity in himself to understand what Sam is saying? Like, ‘Hey, man. Just wanted to let you know I’m going inside Kaia’s dreams to see Jack and possibly mom who, by the way, might have actually been alive this whole time, locked in a cage in an alternative universe ruled by crazy angels. You cool with it?’

There’s no easy way to say this, no matter how much Sam would love to sugar-coat it all.  
And Dean’s so unstable right now, who knows what his reaction might be? No matter how much Sam claims to know about his big brother, it is times like this where he feels like he’s been living with a stranger his whole life. In good days, he’s able to tell what Dean is thinking with just a glance at the man’s face, but now?

It is worse than when Dean came back from Hell.

With a sigh, he takes a step back from the door and heads down the hallway. He can deal with whatever Dean’s reaction may be once he’s seen his mom alive. He takes a few deep breaths and feels his hands clench before reminding himself of the armful of supplies he’s carrying. He does his best to prepare himself mentally before entering the library where Jody, Claire and Kaia wait for him.

“What is that?” Claire asks, eyeing the suspicious honey-coloured contents of one of the jars.

“African dream root mixed with honey and water. This stuff tastes terrible with milk. Oh, and some chamomile to help us sleep faster,” he says, setting two jars, a notepad and a couple bracelets on the mahogany table. He takes one bracelet and gives it to Kaia. “It’s a charm. In case we get stuck there.”

“That can happen?” Kaia asks, wide eyed. She holds the bracelet on the palm of her hand and eyes the weird sigil carved into a small silver charm.

“It’s never happened to us, but Max said we should be careful.”

“Max Bane?” Jody asks.

“Yeah, he’s been helping us out a lot. Ever since Alicia and his mom…” his voice grows quiet before clearing his throat rather loudly. He understands what Max must’ve gone through, being completely alone like that, but he also admires how the kid seems to be holding himself together.

Back then, when it all went down, he’d offered him to stay at the bunker – just like Jody and even his grandmother, Lorraine, must’ve done – but he declined. He said he wanted to be alone, process it all by himself. And so, he did. He refuses to meet anyone in person, but recently he’s been answering everyone’s calls, eager to help those in supernatural trouble.

Sam looks down at the brown leather bracelet, turning it between his fingers. Max had described the voodoo symbol to him, and luckily enough the Men of Letters had a wonderful stash of amulets and talismans to choose from. He’d sent a picture of the thing and got immediate approval from the witch. He fumbles with it a few times before finally strapping it around his left wrist.

He opens the jar, swirling the contents carefully before looking up at Kaia. He twists his mouth into what he hopes is an apologetic smile. “Ok, this is gonna sound weird, but I need a hair.”

“A hair?” Kaia squeaks out.

“Yeah. Magic is weird.” Sam clears his throat, breaking eye contact with the teen. He’s never been good with kids, much less teenagers, and having to ask all these things from one he barely knows, well…

Thankfully Jody is there for support. Raising two teenaged daughters of her own, she places a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder. “It’s alight. Could be worse, believe me.”

Hesitantly, Kaia reaches up and grabs at her hair. She closes her eyes and quickly pulls a single hair from its root, wincing slightly at the sharp sting of pain that flares on her scalp. She carefully holds the hair and hands it to Sam, who opens the jar and waits until she’s placed the curly hair inside before closing the lid and shaking the contents.

“I could still go with you.” he hears Claire tell Kaia.

“No. That place… I don’t want you to see it.” Kaia says, her voice quiet but firm.

“But I won’t-”

“I don’t care. You’re staying right here, awake.”

Claire takes a deep breath, ready to protest some more but Kaia shoots her a glare that has her closing her mouth tightly. She knows this is hard for Kaia, and there’s nothing she wants more than stay by her side, protecting her, even though she knows Kaia is strong and more than capable of managing herself. But she also knows that she has to do this on her own, managing a new experience and learning to deal with her powers without any distractions.

She still shoots Sam with a **’You better take good care of her, Winchester’** glare, to which Sam just nods, wisely avoiding questioning the girl’s sudden closeness.

“Ready?” Sam asks, meeting Kaia’s eyes.

Kaia takes a deep breath and nods, taking a seat on one of the old chairs. Sam takes the jar containing the chamomile and sits in front of her. He takes a handful of the bright yellow powder and looks at Jody and Claire one last time. He’s met with Jody’s reassuring smile and Claire’s threatening but concerned glare. He nods at them before turning back to Kaia.

“Bah-rah-gah-doh” he whispers, blowing the powder.

Both her eyes roll back, and everything goes dark.

~~~

“Mary Winchester,” Jack says, staring up at her in awe. She looks just like Dean, with a few hints of Sam, and it sends weird signals to the human part of his brain.

“Who are you?” Mary croaks out. Fight still finds a way to radiate off her, even at the brink of death. Her legs tremble with the effort of keeping her standing upright, and the bones of her face stand up in sharp angles against the limited light of the room. She feels extremely heavy yet light as a feather, and her throat and lips burn with dehydration.

“My name is Jack. I’m here to take you back to your family.” Jack reaches up to the cage’s lock. It’s heavy and rusted, but there’s no warding keeping him from breaking it with just a touch of his hand. He carefully opens the cage, cringing at the grinding sound of rusted metal and letting Mary fall onto his arms. He steps back a little, unused to the weight of a full other human, but is quick to recover his balance.

“Jack?” she asks, fighting to see his face in the poorly lit room. It doesn’t help that her eyelids keep drooping in an effort to close her eyes. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed since Lucifer pulled her into the rip, but back then, Jack had just been born. How could he be there, talking to her? How…

“How long have I been gone?” She asks once Jack settles her on the floor, propped up against the rotting wood panels of the walls. A small flash of light finally hits the boy’s face, and Mary is stricken by how much he looks like Kelly. No trace of Lucifer in his kind, blue eyes, and soft, reassuring smile.

“Five months, three days and ten hours,” he says, carefully inspecting the wounds littering her arms.

Her tired eyes look at him, and she wonders if her delirious mind is playing tricks on her or this is really Lucifer’s kid. He should be just a baby, yet he looks like he could be in his late teens. The way his eyebrows knit together in concentration as he inspects her wounds like he’s never seen blood in his life is the only indication that he’s, in fact, only five months old. So innocent yet so tainted by Lucifer’s imprint…

Still, after spending so long in that cage, she can’t help but let relief wash over her. At least it hasn’t been _that_ long. She allows herself to close her eyes and let her shaking limbs rest against the cold, hard floor.

Then, she remembers her sons. She stiffens as much as her aching muscles allow her, but before she can even open her mouth the sound of flapping wings interrupts the constant rumble in the sky for a couple seconds. Shivers run down her spine as she’s come to associate the sound with fear and pain, and she feels Jack’s hold on her tighten. The sound of two pairs of heavy military boots echoes through the empty building, approaching them.

“What are you doing out of your cage, little birdie?”

Jack’s heart pounds in his chest, fear activating his fight or flight reflexes. He doesn’t allow himself to think rationally and quickly spreads his wings, feeling each feather stretch in the empty plane.

“Hey! Identify yourself!”

“We’re leaving.”

He doesn’t wait for Mary to process his words before she finds herself sucked into a tornado. Cold wind and sand hit her in the face for a few seconds until they land in a place similar to the church. She blinks a few times, looking down at her mangled body then back up at the old wooden walls that surround her.

“We’ll be safer here.”

Jack looks around the empty cabin, making sure no one is coming to claim their place before taking a seat next to Mary. He lets his eyes roam around her, assessing her condition as best as he can from what he’s learned the past few months. He may not be able to heal her completely, but at least he thinks he’s gathered enough first aid knowledge to relieve her of some of the pain. He closes his eyes and tries to will into existence some supplies, even though he’s only done it once in the past. Mary just sits there, trying to gather her thoughts in the haze of pain and exhaustion that surrounds her.

“Here,” Jack says, holding out a bottle of water against her lips. She greedily gulps it down, tears running down the corners of her eyes as the burn in her throat is subdued by the cold liquid.

“Where’s Sam and Dean?” She asks, coughing a little as the sensations in her throat fight against each other.

“They’re not here. I left them back home, at the bunker.”

Mary sighs, relieved that her boys don’t have to go through this Hell. She attempts to shift in her place to try and find a more comfortable position but painful jolts of hot, burning sensations shoot through her entire body, making her wince and moan aloud. Jack immediately reaches up, slowly guiding her back to position.

“I’m sorry,” Jack says, meeting her eyes. “I wish I could make all the pain go away but I don’t know how, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

Finally, Mary’s head stops turning enough for her to form a straight thought. She looks up at Jack and stares into his eyes for a few seconds before finally finding her words.

“Jack, how are we talking right now? You’re supposed to be a baby.”

Jack smiles awkwardly, and for the first time Mary can see what could be taken as malice or trouble-making wit hiding behind it. The boy clearly struggles with the human part of his being, and the clumsiness of it all reminds Mary too much of Cas. She lets out a shaky breath as a pang of pain hits her in the chest.

“My mother said this world was too dangerous for a baby, so I grew up.”

Mary frowns, not allowing her eyes to leave Jack. As much as she wants to close them, her instincts scream at her to get as much information as she can gather. “But… who taught you to talk, and walk, and all that stuff?” Her voice is still too raspy, and a cough starts to form at the back of her throat. Jack closes his eyes and the empty bottle fills itself. Mary doesn’t hesitate in taking it from him and gulping down half of it in one go, conscious that her body couldn’t handle much at the moment. She forced herself to take deep breaths and finish the rest of the bottle in small, controlled sips.

Jack’s smile widens, and a hint of white teeth is visible between his thin lips.

“My mother did,” he says.

More grief. More sadness.

“Kelly… she’s-”

“Dead,” Jack mumbles, sorrow hiding behind the single word. “I know… I miss her so much.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s all Mary can manage to say.

“It’s ok. Sam has been very kind to me.”

It takes Mary a few seconds to process the words. “What about Dean?”

There’s a long pause. Jack is now sitting next to her, looking down at his hands. He opens and closes his mouth, debating whether he should tell Mary or not. He knows he has to tell her, and he wants to, he wants to know if Dean is usually like this, if he really means it, or if he’s just distraught by everything that’s happened.

But right now, looking at Mary’s condition, he doesn’t know how much good that’ll do. He can’t take any risks. Not with her.

So, he sighs and simply says. “Dean’s been… distant. He’s not acting like in Castiel’s memories. He’s…”

Now it’s Mary’s turn to sigh. “That does sound like Dean,” and after a pause, she finally finds enough strength to let the words leave her mouth. “And Castiel…?”

Jack’s eyes remained glued to the floor. He takes a deep breath and speaks quietly. “I… I begged for him to come back. I…”

Mary closes her eyes, leaning her head against the wood. A slight cloud of dust rises from the movement, and she feels her brain rattle inside her skull as sneeze after sneeze break their way out of her chest.

Jack’s eyes quickly look up at her, and he frowns as he tries to think of something, anything to help her. Mary senses this and raises a shaky hand to stop him.

Tears stream down her dirty face as the sneezes subdue, leaving her panting and wincing in pain. She’s sure she’s got at least a couple bruised ribs.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could do something,” Jack says, his voice shaking with emotion.

Mary manages a forced smile, looking at Jack in the eye. “It’s fine. The fact that you got me out of that thing is more than enough.” She reaches out, laying a comforting hand on his forearm. Suddenly, a cold gust of wind reminds her of where they are, and without really thinking, she asks, “When are you taking me back to the bunker?”

“Right now. Let me open-”

“Wait.”

The nephil frowns, tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy. Mary’s eyes leave his, and she has to take a few shaky breaths before speaking again.

“Lucifer is still out there,” she says, pointing at the broken window in front of them. “We have to make sure he stays here.”

Jack hasn’t been told much about Lucifer. The whole topic has been difficult for him to understand, especially since Lucifer’s name is only spoken in angry screams, blaming him for everything. Jack understands he’s bad, even though he doesn’t really know why. He doesn’t want to know, though, not right now at least. So, he just looks at Mary, and asks, “How?”

“I don’t know. I just…” she sighs, ghosting a worried hand over her face. “I want him to stay away from my family.”

They stay silent for a few seconds, staring at the scrap pieces of paper that litter the place. Another big gust of wind lifts them up, and the papers dance in the empty space with hypnotic, careless abandon. Jack can hear the screams from above, angels and demons alike. He tries to ignore them, wondering why this world turned into such an awful mess. Whose fault could it be?

Suddenly, a loud rumbling cuts through the thick air. He turns to Mary, who places a hand on her stomach. Jack smiles softly. “Are you hungry? I have some nougat in my pocket.” He buries his hands in his jacket pockets and fishes out the yellow wrapped chocolate. He opens it carefully before placing it on Mary’s hand.

A wave of nausea has her flinching, but she knows she needs to eat something to get her energy up. That weird paste those angels fed her did little to keep her knees from buckling under her.

“Thank you.”

She holds the chocolate bar between shaky hands and slowly nibbles on it. Jack sits next to her, silent and alert as another fight breaks between Heaven and Hell above them.

~~~

Jody watches silently as Claire gently nudges Kaia’s sleeping form. Claire, who works a certain brand of tough love – learned from moving around foster homes –, afraid to love and lose, is moving Kaia’s head so it doesn’t hang awkwardly over the chair.

“Should’ve told them to use the beds in the infirmary or something,” she murmurs under her breath. “They’ll both be complaining ‘bout stiff necks all day.”

Once she makes sure Kaia’s as comfortable as she can be in the old chair, she steps back and spares Sam with a simple glance. The man is sprawled like a rag doll, his long limbs hanging awkwardly around the chair, but really, she doesn’t think there’s much to do for him. She shrugs, returning her gaze to Kaia.

“They’ll be fine,” Jody says, though she’s not sure she’s referring to their muscles.

Claire sighs, finally taking a seat two tables over where Jody’s got Sam’s laptop open on her email. There’re a couple mails from deputy Nolan, who insists on reporting every single town drunk he locks up for the night. Other than that, Sioux Falls seems to be calm for now, which is all she could ever ask for.

As the minutes drag on, Claire becomes more and more restless. Jody steals glances at her over the laptop screen, watching the teen tap on the mahogany table, bouncing her legs up and down, but never allowing her eyes to leave the two sleeping forms a couple feet away from them.

Finally, after just ten minutes of silent waiting, Jody sighs. “Claire? Can you please make Dean some lunch? I would but I’m pretty sure he’s sick and tired of my sandwiches.”  
Claire eyes her carefully, seeing right through her. She steals a quick glance back at Sam and Kaia and bites her lip.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on them.” _I’ll keep an eye on her._

The teen seems to think it over for a few moments, clearly unsure of what to do. She knows she can’t spend much longer sitting and waiting without going insane, but there’s no way she’s letting her guard down. What if something happens to them while in dreamland? She’s been trying so hard to show Jody, show everyone, that she’s more than determined to become the best hunter in the field. If she leaves now, what could that say of her?

But it truly looks like Jody understands. She’s only helping her clear her mind, stay focused on the mission. Besides, feeding Dean is still important. The man-baby needs to eat something. Jody can hold the fort for a couple minutes.

Claire finally sighs, rising from the chair. Her neck feels stiff and she feels pins and needles on her legs, but she still nods at Jody and walks swiftly out of the room.

She feels like a weight is lifted off her chest when she steps inside the kitchen. She walks over to the industrial-sized fridge and opens it, staring mindlessly at the leftover pizza boxes occupying most of its space. The massive silver fridge hums gently and the yellow lightbulb lighting it up inside flickers a couple times before she finally takes out the soggy box. It’s got less than half of a pepperoni pizza. She eyes the slices before leaning in and sniffing them. They seem good enough.

She walks over to the counter and gets two of the few vintage plates left, thinking she might as well eat a slice or two, and places five slices on them. Dean is more than capable of eating an entire family sized box by himself, but considering how little he’s been eating lately, she’s not sure he’ll even finish a single slice. Still, that man is unpredictable. He may devour all four slices in a single bite, for all she knows.

Claire goes back towards the fridge, pulling the heavy metal door open and burying her head inside. At the very back, where Dean would usually keep his stash of beer, there’s now only a couple water bottles and some of the freaky health smoothies Sam makes. She takes two water bottles and kicks the door closed, flinching when something rattles inside.

The pizza is cold, but come on, it’s pizza. She carefully balances the plates and the water bottles in her arms and makes her way out into the long hallways. Sometimes she curses the fact that Dean and Sam’s rooms are so deep within the bunker, but her hunter brain tells her they’re strategically chosen to keep them relatively safe in case of emergency. They’re close to an emergency exit, as well as a weapon stash and a ‘panic room’ that is just an empty room hidden behind a bookshelf (because, apparently, the Men of Letters do have some fucked up sense of humour) a couple rooms down.

Once she reaches the familiar door, she shoves a water bottle under her arm and firmly knocks on the dark wood. As always, there’s no response. She counts to five in her head before slowly twisting the golden doorknob and walking into the room.

Dean is sitting on his desk. His dark, sunken eyes stare blankly at the mess of papers and pictures before him. His back is hunched, and Claire wonders how the man will be able to move from that position after spending so long sitting like that.

She clears her throat, walking towards him. He blinks slowly once, twice, before craning his neck and laying those dull green eyes on her bright blues. A full-body shudder shakes him, and he flinches as his spine screams in protest.

“You should stretch your legs once in a while, old man.” Claire mumbled, placing the plate on top of a couple crumpled papers.

Dean grunts in response, so quietly she almost doesn’t hear him over the constant hum of machinery that plagues the bunker. She takes her own plate and sits on the edge of Dean’s bed, facing him. Dean stares at the plate for a few long seconds before sighing and reaching out for a slice. Satisfied, Claire takes a bite of her own.

They eat in silence, not meeting each other’s eyes for more than a split second. They can’t. Not when there’s an empty space creeping around them, filling the room with cold reminders of what they’ve lost.

And even though the room is relatively small and full of Dean’s stuff, Claire feels the overwhelming need to wrap her arms around herself. Her throat closes, and it takes a lot of effort to swallow even the smallest bites.

Eventually, she finishes her slice, and peaking over at Dean’s plate she sees he’s also done with a slice. She waits for him to reach for another, but he never does. Instead, he opens the water bottle and chugs half of it. His eyes fill with tears at the feeling of cold liquid brushing against his sore throat.

And then they just sit in silence, feeling less alone with the other’s company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on Tumblr! @call-it-a-miracle


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s alive, and Jack is bringing her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long. I had a bad family emergency. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Don't know when I'll update next, but if you have any questions or just want to chat, come say hi on Tumblr! @call-it-a-miracle

When Sam opens his eyes, he immediately finds himself squinting against the sand threatening to get in them. Kaia is standing to his right, holding her forearm over her face like she’s done every time she wakes up in this place.

They find themselves in the middle of nowhere with nothing but sand dunes and the occasional corpse rotting in a pool of its own blood. He turns to Kaia, and the question must be obvious on his face because before he can open his mouth Kaia is already speaking.

“This is where I always wake up.”

Sam spares another look around. The sky is completely covered in dark clouds, yet it feels like there’s a million sun rays stabbing his skin under the thick layers of clothing he’s wearing. Its only been a few seconds but he can already feel the beads of sweat rolling down his face from the unbearable heat. He’s not sure how the Hell he’s able to feel the atmosphere of the place, but he figures he can ask Kaia about the physics of dream walking later.

He looks back down at Kaia, who’s looking at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for the hunter to get used to the place. She can’t really blame him, though, since it still freaks her out to wake up surrounded by sand and – how can she forget? – brutally murdered corpses.

“Ok. So, now what?” Sam asks, already squirming against the uncomfortable feeling of sand getting in his clothes.

“We walk.”

And, oh, they walked. For what felt like hours they struggled against sand and wind as thunder and lightning broke on the sky above them. The flashes of light were their only help in navigating across the dunes, avoiding corpses and weapons left half-buried in the ground. Kaia kept her arms wrapped tightly around herself like she did every single time. Sam followed behind her, unable to stop himself from throwing curious glances at the angry sky.

Suddenly, Kaia stops dead on her tracks. A cloud of dust rises from the movement, but she doesn’t bother to wave it off.

“What is it?” Sam asks, frowning.

Kaia shook her head, unable to stop looking at a spot in the distance. “This isn’t the place.”

Sam’s stare shifted from her to her line of sight. “How do you know?”

“The church they were in, it had no doors. This one does.”

“…church?” Sam squinted, placing a hand over his eyes to shield them from the flickering lights above until his sight cleared and he was able to make out the blurry shape of a decaying structure.

Kaia shifted her weight from one leg to another uncomfortably, tightening her grip around herself. “I… I’ve never been here before.”

“Well, we should still check it out.”

They reach the church and without thinking, Sam rushes inside. Kaia is in the middle of panicking when the man pulls her with him, and the strong wind outside closes the heavy wooden doors behind them. They can’t see much under the limited lighting, but they can still make out the rotten wood walls and broken porcelain figures littering the place. Footsteps are heard from the back of the place, and before they can really brace themselves, Jack’s soft voice breaks through the thick atmosphere of the place.

“Do you know where he is?”

Sam immediately rushes forward, walking past the remnants of a wall before coming face to face with-

“I don’t know. They took him away when they locked me up. I just hope they locked him up, too.”

The hunter feels his stomach drop to his feet, and it takes all he has for him not to physically drop to his knees. His mom is right there, sitting against a concrete wall. He can barely see her face under her tangled hair and the thick layer of dirt covering her skin. Her hands lay on her lap in tight fists, and her arms are barely being covered by the scraps of what used to be her long-sleeved shirt. Jack’s tan jacket lays carefully around her shoulders, but he can still see the blood stains on her chest and stomach.

Sam opens his mouth, ready to say something, but Jack interrupts him.

“Wait.” Jack stands from his crouched position, looking around the crumpled-down room they find themselves in until his eyes finally stop in the general direction of Sam and Kaia. “We’re not alone.”

“What?” Mary’s panicked whisper is the last thing they hear before a loud flutter of wings cuts through. In the blink of an eye, Jack and Mary are gone.

The hunter looks around the empty room, disbelief clouding his eyes. “Mom?! Jack?!”

His legs seem to move on their own as they take him to the place his mom had been lying on mere seconds ago. His hands reach out in front of him, feeling through the empty space as if they’d magically appear once again. A big cloud of dust surrounds him, and he finds himself coughing his lungs out before he’s finally able to process what happened.

Jack had been able to sense them – another thing to add to the long list of “weird things Jack can do unconsciously” –, but since they weren’t there physically, he wasn’t able to identify who they were. He felt insecure and left, taking Mary along with him.

Mary, who Sam wasn’t sure he’d ever see again. She’d looked thin, way too thin, and the minimal light of the place casted extreme shadows over what he could see of her grey-ish skin where her cheek bones had stuck out sharply. He wants to convince himself that she didn’t look as bad, that he just hadn’t had enough time to look at her. But damn, after so long thinking he’d never see her again, he’d let his eyes drink in as much of her as possible.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes.

She’s alive – still fighting even after all she’s been through – and she’s with Jack. While he finds no comfort in the two of them still being in this other world, surrounded by war and monsters, at least he knows they’re together and that Jack is more than capable of protecting her.

Still, that doesn’t stop the frustration that threatens to drown him.

And to make things worse, his vision starts to blurry. He knows he’s not passing out; his limbs still feel strong by his sides and his mind is still working just fine.

“What…?” He asks, flinching at the slur in his voice.

“We’re waking up.” Kaia says, relief clouding her words.

And just like that, everything goes black.

~~~

Jody nearly jumps out of her skin when Sam jolts awake, long limbs flailing all over the place. Next to him, Kaia startles awake, gasping for breath.

“Sam!” The sheriff cries out, holding her chest in hopes of keeping her racing heart from breaking through the skin and leaping out of her body. “Kaia! You guys ok?!” She rushes over by their side, scanning their faces.

Kaia groans softly, rubbing her eyes and blinking owlishly against the bright yellow lights.  
“I’m fine.” She spares Sam a quick glance before standing up from the chair and disappearing in the general direction of the kitchen.

“Are you sure?” The sheriff asks, staring intently at her back.

Kaia nods absentmindedly, not bothering to turn and look at her. “Yeah, I’m just gonna get some water.”

Jody watches her leave, returning her gaze to Sam once she disappears through the long hallways. “Sam?”

The man in question looks up at her and lets out a long breath. His shoulders slump, a tiny bit of tension leaves them. “I saw Jack with mom. He’s really bringing her back.”

But before Jody could say something, a loud noise cuts in.

All eyes turn to Dean, who’s standing by the entrance to the library. His left hand is still hanging mid-air as an empty metal plate lies ominously on the ground. His eyes are wide, but no hint of emotion can be found in them. He’s staring right at Sam, waiting for some sort of explanation as to what the fuck he just walked in on.

Jody’s mouth hangs open. “Dean…”

Dean ignores her in favour of staring Sam down. His younger brother sighs and runs a hand over his messy, way-too-fucking-long hair. He attempts to stand up, bumping his knee on the mahogany table, nearly knocking over the empty jar he’d drank from a couple hours ago. Dean’s eyes shift to it, and a voice inside his head screams for someone to _say something_ before he loses what little cool he’s got left.

Sam takes a deep breath and finds his voice again.

“Kaia’s been dreaming about that place,” he blurts out. “Not the Bad Place. The other one… and she saw Jack, and mom… and I had to see it for myself. I- I had to.” He looks down at the empty jar before finally meeting Dean’s eyes.

Dean blinks once, twice, and his face twists into a frown. _Why didn’t you tell me?_

“I needed to make sure it was legit before I could tell you.”

Dean finds himself nodding, walking over to the table. He picks up the empty mason jar, watches as the milky white liquid sloshes around the clear walls before throwing it against a line of bookshelves. Shards of glass fly out, landing all over the place. Jody jumps back, staring up at the older hunter in disbelief.

The man is not done, though, as he reaches out to swipe off all the books and papers that littered the table. It all cascades to the floor in a loud thud. His breathing gets heavy, and if it weren’t for Sam, who finally got himself off the chair and jumped to his brother’s side, he would’ve punched the wall behind him.

He tries to brush Sam off, digging his elbows onto his sides, but the taller man doesn’t budge. Finally, he sighs, and gives up. Slowly, carefully, Sam lets go of him and steps back a little.

Jody and Sam hang back while Dean gathers himself, not knowing what to say or do to help him. They both know that the hunter can act out in a very unpredictable fashion, courtesy of years of military training from John, as well as his own suppression of himself, and there really is no way to know what to say or do to contain these impulses.

Dean buries both hands on his face, pressing the palms of his hands against his tired eyes. Not even he knows what’s really going through his mind. With Jack, the son of Lucifer – who, by all means, is to blame for most of his problems – going AWOL, his mom turning out to be alive after months of mourning, and now Sam _hiding_ important shit like this from him because he thinks he can’t handle it.

Which, judging by the way he just reacted, might be true. But it wouldn’t have been this way if Sam had told him everything from the very start. He should’ve known the damn girl could see his-

His mom. She’s alive, and Jack is bringing her back.

But can he really trust Sam’s word for it? Is that stupid optimism enough for him to rise his hopes? He can’t remember the last time he allowed himself to be hopeful. Maybe it was back when he first saw Mary in that cold, dark field, when their eyes met for the first time in _decades_. Maybe then, he’d hoped for his family to stay together. With Sam finally getting to meet their mom, and Cas-

No. He can’t let himself hope.

Mary has been locked in that universe for way too long. If Lucifer didn’t kill her right away, he’s sure those dick angels – that shittier version of Michael – surely killed her on sight. It’s just too good to be true, to think his mom could beat all the odds and still return, alive, back to the bunker. _Back to him._

Or maybe a small part of him, deep inside his chest, doesn’t want to accept the fact that she’s coming back. Maybe he doesn’t want her back, because that would mean adding another name to the list of people he’s failed to help, to save. His family is his responsibility and if he can’t take care of every single one of them, then who the Hell is he supposed to be? His mom has been trapped in that place, where he couldn’t look past a couple feet before finding a rotting corpse, where angels and demons fight each other like in biblical times, where fucking Lucifer is roaming free to do God knows what, and he never did anything to try and get her out.

And now, if it weren’t for what’s left of his very, very fragile family, she would’ve been left in there to die alone and in pain.

Except he doesn’t know that. He can’t tell himself either possibility is true because they all hurt way too much. So, instead, he avoids thinking about it, again.

He lets Sam guide him to his room, where they both collapse on his, surprisingly, neatly done bed. He lets his little brother lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, not letting any shred of emotion escape the numb barrier he’s built inside himself.

“They’re coming back.” Sam whispers. He looks over at Dean, praying for a miracle. “I can promise you that much.”

~~~

Kaia doesn’t know why the hell she aimed for the kitchen instead of her military-like assigned room, but once she gets there, she’s glad she did.

Claire’s back is to her and she can see the hunter furiously trying to scrub a metal plate. Her long, blonde hair falls in its usual curls behind her, and somehow Kaia is tempted to run her hands through it. She quickly chases the thought away, clearing her throat as smoothly as she can.

“I think that’s clean enough,” she says, awkwardly hovering on the doorway.

Startled, Claire turns to her. She throws her a small smile, washing off the excess soap and drying the plate with a rag. “In a place like this, you never know what kinds of germs could be dancing around.”

Claire leans awkwardly over the metal kitchen island, wincing as a few pots and pans clash against each other. Kaia’s small smile widens, and without thinking much of it she walks right into the kitchen and takes a seat on the table in the corner. Claire immediately joins her.

“So, how was dream land? Did that geezer give you any trouble?”

Kaia sighs. “It was pretty much the same. We found the kid, and his mom.”

Claire opens her mouth to answer but is interrupted by a loud crash. She shoots Kaia a glance before standing up, bolting out of the kitchen. Kaia follows right behind her, her heart fluttering at the protective arm Claire places behind herself to stop Kaia from getting too close.

They arrive at the library just in time to see Sam leave, his shoulders so squared and tense it’s surprising how he manages to move.

Jody turns to the girls, a frown knitting her eyebrows together.

“What happened?” Claire asks. Unconsciously, her left hand rises to sit on Kaia’s shoulder.

Jody sighs. “Winchester stuff.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mom?”

“You have to stop doing that.”

Mary squeezes her eyes shut, desperately trying to keep her stomach deep inside her body. After a few deep breaths she’s finally able to slowly lean her head back against the remnants of another concrete wall, letting most of the tension leave her body.

“I’m sorry,” Jack says, walking around the smaller space. The ceiling is much more run down in this one, and he’s able to watch as an angel leaps forward and thrusts their angel blade right through a demon’s skull. “But I think someone – or something – found us there.”

Mary frowns. “What do you mean ‘or something’?”

“I’m not sure. It didn’t feel… complete. I don’t know, I’m still trying to figure most things out.” Jack looks down at her, mustering what he now knows is an ‘apologetic smile’.

Mary sighs, rubbing her tired eyes with the palm of her hand. “It’s ok. I’m sorry, if I’m making things harder for you.”

“You’re not. It’s always been this hard.” He looks up again, watching as a demon takes an angel blade and threatens an angel with it. What humans would interpret as thunder and lightning lights up the grey sky with blinding light – and when it’s gone, only ash stands where the demon used to exist. “We have to leave this place.”

“What about Lucifer?” Her voice sounds strained as she tries to subdue a wave of coughs that rattle her chest.

Jack summons another bottled water, offering it to Mary who immediately hangs on to it like a lifeline. “You said you want to make sure he stays here, right?”

She nods, saving the last few sips of water to clean up her face a little.

“Then maybe I should try to track him down, check if he’s being contained somewhere. Then we can-”

“No.”

Mary’s protest is strong, determined, and to make her point she reaches out and grips Jack’s wrist in the tightest hold she can muster. Her eyes glue themselves to Jack’s bright blue ones, and her motherly instincts kick in.

“No? Why?” Jack asks, kneeling closer to her.

“Jack.” This is it. She’s really using her ‘mom voice’ with Lucifer’s son. “We can’t let Lucifer follow us back home, but we also can’t let him know you’re here. He’d come for you, and who knows what he’d do to you.” Her voice alone can’t hold the punch she’s expecting it to, not with her condition, so she tries to convey her feelings through her wide eyes.

The nephil opens his mouth to protest – not really knowing what the whole ‘mom voice’ and ‘mom look’ mean – but then he’s reminded of the reason why he came here in the first place. Ever since he was born, he hasn’t been able to do one simple, good thing. Hell, last time he tried to help he killed someone _on accident._ He came here to do one good thing and one thing only: bring Mary back home.

The hunter’s hands shake as she softly brings Jack’s wrists closer to her, making sure the kid is paying close attention to her words. “We need to make sure he stays here, where he can’t hurt anyone else. Last I heard of him, he was under this Michael’s grip. This world… it’s so full of evil and destruction. I don’t think there are any humans left. We can leave Lucifer trapped in here, things can’t get any worse.”

So, he shuts his mouth, takes a deep breath, and nods. “I understand. What do you want to do, then?”

Mary eyes him for a few seconds, slowly letting go of his wrists. “What do _you_ want to do?”

Jack frowns. “Well, I want to take you back to the bunker, of course. I- Sam and Dean need you.”

Mary sighs. She needs her sons, too. They may have had a bit of a rocky start to their relationship, but now things were starting to look up for them. These past few months she spent locked up there was nothing she wanted more than to have her boys’ arms around her, letting her know everything would be fine.

She nods. “Ok.”

With shaky legs, Mary pushes herself up. Jack immediately reaches out to help her, and Mary shoots him a small, grateful smile and grasps onto the kid’s shoulders. But before they go…

“He doesn’t know you’re here, right?” She asks.

Jack shakes his head. “No, I don’t think he does.”

Mary leans back on the wall, her grasp on Jack’s shoulders getting tighter. “If he did, he would’ve already come to get us…” She takes a deep breath before meeting Jack’s blue eyes. “Are you sure you know how to get us home?”

All she gets back from Jack is a big grin.

~~~

“Sam?”

Jody pokes her head from the war room to the library, and sure enough she finds Sam sitting in one of the tables. He’s got his laptop and a few books scattered around him, but the frown between his eyebrows was smaller from the last time she saw it. She figures he’s still doing research on dream walking and other worlds or whatever.

“Sam? I’m going out with the girls to get groceries and stuff, you need something?” She asks, staying by the entrance.

The man in question lifts his head and stretches his long arms by his sides. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

Just then Claire walks in, grinning at Jody. “He wants some of that new spicy beef jerky. What an ape. Can we go now?”

Jody rolls her eyes. “Sure. Is Kaia ready?”

“Ready!” Kaia yells out from the staircase. Being trapped in that place for so long is making her feel itchy and anxious. If she doesn’t get any fresh air any time soon, she’s sure she’ll implode.

“Well, bye Sam. See you boys in a bit.”

With that, all three girls leave the bunker, the loud echo of the big metal door resonating through the awfully quiet bunker. Sam sighs and buries himself back on his research.

He’s reading a very interesting article about Native American Tribes when the yellow lights of the bunker start flickering. Alarms set off in Sam’s head. He quietly closes his laptop, reaching behind him for the pistol he keeps in the waistband of his jeans.

In his room, Dean notices the change in the atmosphere. He takes off his earphones – which are still blasting with the now-muffled sounds of Metallica – and reaches for his own gun, always loaded and ready. He’s tempted to call out for Sam, as he always does whenever shit goes down, but he doesn’t. He takes a deep breath and slowly, carefully, walks out of his room and marches silently through the extensive hallways of the bunker.

Back at the library, Sam barely has time to stand up from his chair when the familiar golden light fills the room. A rush of wind rattles countless loose papers that litter the place and messes with Sam’s already messy hair. He can’t even wonder if they accidentally left a window open because, newsflash, _the bunker has no fucking windows._

He doesn’t even have time to process this last thought when the rift opens – a zipper suddenly appearing in the delicate veil of space and time – and two bodies stumble through before a hand hovers up in the air and the portal closes up, all happening in what must be the record-breaking time of 9.03 seconds.

Then, four beats of silence. Panting, coughing and groaning break it, like a thunderstorm inside a snow globe. Sam’s view is obstructed by the table, but _he’s sure he knows who’s there._ It’s not like he’s expecting someone else to just open a portal between worlds and walk through for dinner and a movie.

He can’t bring himself to move and just _look_ though. No matter how loud his head screams, his legs won’t move.

Meanwhile Dean hears the commotion and sprints to the library. His head screams at him, and the words **don’t you dare lose what you have left of your family** tattoo themselves behind his eyelids. Bile rises from his throat at the thought. With shaky hands he clicks off the safety on his pistol and keeps it ready in front of him.

The older hunter bursts into the library – and he’s so damn ready to shoot whatever dares threaten what little he’s got left in his pathetic life when all the blood decides to leave his upper body, like a bucket of ice-cold water being dropped on his head. He completely freezes in place.

Then Jack stands up, shifts his gaze between the brothers, and reaches down to help Mary stand up when he notices her unconscious body all but slumped over the dark wooden floor. He kneels back down next to her, shaking her and calling her name, but it’s useless. Exhaustion finally got the best of her, but at least her breathing is more or less back to normal.

The nephil looks back up at the brothers. “She’s unconscious. Can you help me take her to her room?”

And, **fuck** , Sam has never moved faster in his goddamned life.

With the utmost care, he kneels down and lifts Mary’s body. Her head hangs awkwardly to the side, and it takes Sam a few seconds of staring at her face before realizing this and gingerly shifting her into a more comfortable position. He keeps looking at her, as if making sure she’s really there, but it takes him actually saying it out loud to _believe_ she’s finally home.

“Mom?”

He gets a long, deep sigh from her as a response. A shaky breath leaves him, along with months of pain and darkness. His legs feel like jelly, but he’s not going to stop holding his mom. He forces himself to turn around, and he’s met with Dean’s eyes. He recognizes that his brother is overwhelmed with emotions – just as much as he is – but there’s something else in there.

Sam doesn’t notice, however, that this something else is utter and undeniable disappointment. And it frustrates the older hunter because _how dare he have these kinds of thoughts when his mom is **alive** and right there in front of him._ He takes a deep breath, and is surprised when a tear runs down his face. He hadn’t noticed the burn in his eyes, or the way his sight blurred. His little brother throws him a soft smile, one of those that usually are accompanied by his puppy-dog eyes.

Jack watches as Sam walks past Dean to Mary’s room. It takes Dean a few seconds before he’s turning around and following Sam deep into the bunker.

The nephil sighs, looking down at himself. He’s covered in sand and dirt and his clothes feel incredibly uncomfortable on his body. He waits until the three Winchesters are nestled in Mary’s room before walking to his, grabbing some of his new clothes and walking back out to the bunker’s showers.

He sighs as the incredible water pressure hits the tangled muscles of his back. He knows he doesn’t really _need_ this. He can just snap his fingers and use his grace to clean himself, but nothing can compare to this feeling. Watching as the water washes away all the guck that’s stuck itself to his skin feels so satisfying ang _good._ It also makes him feel _human_ which, he decides, is the one thing he’s going to be aiming for from now on.

He’s been able to tap into his powers better now, and he’s finally done something _good_ for the people he cares about without hurting others in the process. Now, he feels the soft hum of grace pulsing through his veins and he doesn’t feel scared anymore. He feels hopeful, at peace, and maybe even _happy._

The smile doesn’t leave his face as he finally leaves the shower, changes into new, soft cotton clothes and walks back to his room. He lays in bed and, for the first time ever, he’s not scared to let his eyes close on their own.

~~~

Jody, Claire and Kaia arrive a couple hours later. They’re all carrying a bunch of bags each, refusing to take everything inside in more than one trip. They take everything to the kitchen and start putting everything away, not noticing the fact that the whole place is unusually quiet. Sure, the brothers haven’t been big on being noisy these past few days, but there’s still the sounds of Dean’s muffled music or Sam’s frantic typing on his laptop filling the empty spaces in the air. Now, the girls can even hear their own breathing as they store fresh veggies and bags of chips on the ancient, metal furniture of the bunker’s kitchen.

It’s only when Claire and Kaia decide to go watch something on Claire’s laptop when they notice the mess in the library. Claire immediately reaches down for her pocket knife, placing a protective arm behind her. Without ungluing her eyes from the mess before her, Kaia reaches inside her jacket pocket and takes out her new pocket knife, identical to Claire’s, who gifted it to her a couple hours ago.

“To keep you safe. You know, now that you’re kind of like a hunter in training.” Claire had said. A slight blush had taken over her cheeks, but she’d let her hair fall on her face to cover it up.

Kaia had smiled up at her, murmuring a soft thank you before pocketing the knife safely on the inside of her new army green jacket.

Back at the library, Claire makes sure the place is empty before she calls out for Jody.

The sheriff stalks out of the kitchen, gun in hand, following Claire’s alarmed voice. She takes one look at the mess on the floor and rushes deep inside the bunker to the dormitories. Claire and Kaia follow close behind her.

They run into Sam’s room, but find it empty. Same with Dean’s. And before they reach into Jack’s room where the nephil sleeps soundly, they find Mary’s door open. They don’t need to peak inside to know the boys are in there, with their mom.

Jody quickly ushers the girls back to the war room.

~~~

It’s not fair.

Mary’s been back for almost a week now. It took a few days for her to get her sea legs back, still scared that she would close her eyes and wake up back inside the cage. Her skin was starting to get its colour back, and her cheekbones didn’t seem to stick out as much as they did that first day. Sam spent most of his time fussing over her, making sure she ate, slept and, well, that she was really alive and well. But not Dean.

**It’s not fair.**

And it’s not like he’s not trying. From the second she stumbled into the library he’s been spending every waking moment with her and Sam. They eat together, lounge together; the only time they don’t spend together is when either of them needs to use the bathroom or when they go sleep in their respective rooms. Sam and Mary talk and talk – building that relationship that Sam had insisted he’d never get to share with her back at Mia’s place – and Dean just sits and _listens_ because still, somehow, he just can’t find his voice.

Not like it bothers him. On the contrary, it allows him to concentrate on more important things like how ridiculous the kid looks chasing after Claire and Kaia like a stray puppy, eager to make friends “his own age”. Or how insistent Jody had been to stay with them for at least a week longer to make sure they were all settled – whatever she meant by that.

The best part for him is that neither Mary nor Sam seem to notice it. They just keep talking and laughing and having a grand old time while Dean can’t even look at Mary – _his mom_ – without feeling his heart twist and turn in his chest.

At some point he briefly asked himself if he really cared that she was back, except he was as fast to brush it away because that is just not true. Hell, he’s so damn relieved he gets to see her face again that he could explode. But – for some goddamn fucking reason – he’s not _happy_. Or at least not as over-the-moon as his brother seems to be, with that big ass grin taking over his dumb face. There’s still a gaping **empty** space where his heart used to be, and no matter how hard he tries to fill it up, it just keeps getting bigger and bigger.

Maybe if he ignores it it’ll go away?

He knows that won’t work, it never does, but what else can he do?

They say goodbye to Jody, who returns to Sioux Falls with a big, hopeful smile, and a promise that they’ll stay in contact for anything either of them could need. Claire and Kaia leave a day later with a couple ancient lore books and three different possible hunts around the area. It’s bittersweet, and Dean doesn’t know how they’ll repay them for everything they’ve done, but nonetheless, a little bit of normality returns to their lives.

And by ‘normality’ he means, well, he doesn’t know. But at least he gets to see his mom and little brother smile.

~~~

It’s a Friday afternoon a few days later when Dean finds himself walking around a Kansas City mall next to his mom. Sam and Jack are in some store looking at nerd things while Dean and Mary go to the local coffee shop – anything but that Starbucks rubbish kids seem to enjoy these days – and get them all something warm to drink; anything to undo the effects of the harsh winter beginning to break through.

“Should we get Jack some coffee or hot chocolate? He really likes sweets, and I don’t want him to suffer the same caffeine addiction we do. Can Nephilim even get addicted to coffee?” Mary blabbers as they stand in line, her voice drowned down by the loud muttering of people around them.

Dean shrugs absentmindedly, his eyes glued to a spot on the far wall in front of them.

Mary eyes him. “Let’s just get him a hot chocolate. Maybe he hasn’t even tried one before.”

Her older son nods, pulling out his wallet as the line gets shorter and shorter. The barista taking orders immediately addresses Dean, expecting him to bark out their order, but Mary just smiles kindly and answers.

“Your husband’s not having a great day, huh?” The girl asks, pressing a few buttons on the computer in front of her.

Mary eyes Dean again before answering. “You could say that.”

Her smile fades a bit when she notices her son’s lack of response. Usually he would jump in and say they were just friends, or siblings, or _anything_ else, but this Dean just shrugs again, takes the fraudulent credit card from the employee and walks away without even waiting for Mary to follow.

They get their drinks and take a seat on a booth tucked in a dark corner of the shop. Mary’s eyes keep scanning her son, waiting for him to complain about the indie background music or the lack of proper lighting in the place, but none of that ever comes. He just takes out his phone and texts Sam to let him know they’re waiting for him and Jack to come get their shit.

Dean doesn’t notice her eyes on him though. He’s too busy using most of his energy on blocking out the dark thoughts that creep and scream in the back of his mind. He’s spent all his life repressing thoughts and feelings, burying them deep inside the very back of his brain, but somehow this time it’s getting harder and harder as the days go by.

It doesn’t help that Jack jumps in and eagerly takes a seat right in front of Dean. _Great._

He doesn’t think the kid is a monster, not anymore. Sure, he’s still dangerous and unpredictable as any infant wave of celestial intent would be, but so far, all the trouble he’s gotten into is stealing a few candy bars from vending machines and trying to show a little kid how he can move a pen around without physically touching it. (They have all collectively decided to forget about the security guard from a while ago, which is probably for the best considering their depleted mental health is starting to grow on the positive side.)

No, what really _bothers_ Dean is the way those blue eyes look at him. And the way he tilts his head slightly to the left whenever he doesn’t understand something. And how stiff he looks when he sits down, spine completely straight and hands slightly intertwined on his lap. And, most of all, just how _stupidly angel_ the kid can be.

But then he does something completely **him** like blabber on and on about how much he likes the sweet taste of chocolate, exposing that mischievous grin of his that is so uniquely Jack – Dean can’t help but feel a little bit of warmth sip into that usual cold empty inside him.

_His uncle Gabriel would be incredibly proud of the little shit._

“I was thinking,” Sam says, taking the lid off his coffee to help cool it down. “There’s a hunt a few towns over. Most likely it’s a vengeful spirit, nothing too complicated. Maybe Jack and I could head on out…” The tall man trails off, his eyes shifting from Mary’s to Dean’s.

“Are you sure?” Mary asks.

“Yeah. Jack’s never seen a ghost, think of it as a school trip.”

Jack’s smile widens. “Do you think my powers will work on a ghost?”

“Maybe? I mean, Cas could-”

Before he can finish his sentence, Dean gets up from the table and rushes to where he hopes the restrooms are.

~~~

A day later, Sam and Jack load the Impala with a couple bags, making sure they have enough salt – just in case – as well as their clean, ironed FBI suits – again, _just in case_ – and climb inside. The first rays of sunshine stain the blue sky with warm pinks and oranges, and the smell of coffee and clean air fills the inside of the car. Sam sits back on the driver’s seat, letting his long hair dance wildly in the light breeze. Jack leans against the car door on the passenger seat, eyes lost somewhere in the beautiful Kansas scenery. His hands clutch tightly to a thermos full of hot chocolate, waiting for it to cool down enough to be drinkable without burning his tongue.

It had been hard, leaving Mary and Dean in the state they’re both in, but they’d agreed that it would be the best for them.

Dean’s been acting incredibly weird since Mary came back, specially since he’s gone back to being mute. Sam remembers reading they father’s journal, feeling the desperation John felt those months after Mary’s death when Dean refused to let any sounds leave his mouth, and how much work it took before Dean felt comfortable with talking again.

But it’s been a very long time since that, and they’ve both been through so many traumatic experiences – he doesn’t understand how it’s taking him longer to process it this time. Sure, he’s gone selectively mute a few times before, but it doesn’t take him longer than a couple days to get back to his usual self.

Now, it’s been _weeks_ and even though their mom is back, there doesn’t seem to be any sort of improvement. In fact, it seems like his older brother is only getting worse. Before, he would at least get mad at him, throw him glares and some of his trademark no-bullshit _looks_ but now…

It’s like he’s muted himself completely. No words, no sounds, no feelings. He does make an effort with being present, always staying by Sam and Mary’s side, listening to their conversations and contributing with the occasional shrug, but nothing else. Sam can physically feel his brother leaving them in favour of his thoughts when the conversations die down.

Next to him, Jack takes a sip from the bright blue thermos.

Sam sighs. Part of the reason why he wanted to make this trip was to escape the thick cloud of sorrow that follows his brother and everyone around him all the time. It got to the point where the taller man felt like he could choke and looking at Jack he could see the kid felt the same way. Mary had been doing alright these past few days, investing herself in others in order to forget about the storm in her mind. Sam can understand that, and he knows from personal experience that there is no better distractor than a gloomy Dean.

He didn’t tell her any of this but judging by the look she’d thrown him the night before right after they all dispersed to their respective bedrooms, he knows she’s got an idea of what he’s doing and she’s on board with whatever it might be.

Something warm spreads in his chest. _His mom trusts him._

“Jack? You wanna put some music?” He asks, tuning to the kid.

Jack takes another sip of his drink before nodding.

Sam gestures at the general area under the glove compartment. “The tape box is down there somewhere.”

A few rustling sounds later, Jack speaks again. “Can I put some AC/DC?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.”

Jack puts the tape in and Sam sighs again as the first strong notes of a guitar riff fill the air. _This_ is what he needed. The sense of familiarity accompanied by a no-strings-attached contentment make most of the tension leave his broad shoulders.

He’s losing himself to the road in front of him when more rustling sounds bring him back to the driver seat.

“Hey, Sam?”

The older man turns briefly to Jack. He’s got the glove compartment open and a frown knits his eyebrows together.

“Yeah? What is it?”

Jack buries his hand inside the glove compartment again, shoving aside fake insurance papers and the occasional fake id. Nothing.

“I- do you think- did Dean-” Jack stutters, frowning deeper.

Now Sam is concerned. “What about Dean?”

“The mixtape he made for my father, it’s gone.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s Top 13 Zepp Traxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BEEN FIVE MONTHS AND I'M SO SORRY. I don't know when i'll be able to update from now on but please know i'm not giving up on this fic. Uni is just being specially bitchy as of lately T.T

_Dean’s Top 13 Zepp Traxx_

He traces his fingers over his messy handwriting, remembering how hard it’d been to think of a title for the mixtape. 

He’d always wanted to give the angel a nice little gift, a reminder for something – Dean’s still not sure what that something might be. Perhaps it was nothing, just a _thing_ for Cas to fill the loose pockets of that awful trench coat; or maybe it was everything, a fine piece of plastic heavy with thoughts and emotions that threaten to spill through its thin walls. 

Whatever it was, it doesn’t really matter now. 

He looks over the thing one more time before shoving it into his homemade cassette player and eagerly puts his headphones on. He doesn’t let himself think too much about how Cas could’ve felt like casually listening to the tape in his truck when he presses play.

The familiar sound of that smooth guitar riff invades his ears. He lets himself lean back and enjoy one of his favourite songs of all time. 

**1.- Ramble On.**

At the time, he’d felt like he just _had_ to open with this masterpiece. Apart from being one of his favourite songs, he felt like it described pretty much what he’d felt like before his father went “missing” on that faithful hunt. Lovin’ and leavin’ ‘em, never expecting to build something solid for as long as his life remained on the run and go. 

He’d debated heavily with himself, wondering if he should use this one or Traveling Riverside Blues, and while that song in on itself is also a masterpiece, somehow, he knew Cas would appreciate the light-hearted, free rhythm of Ramble On more. 

A bitter smile sets on his lips. He remembers listening to the song and thinking that it was ok. That no matter how much he craved something to hold on to other than his dad and his little brother, life on the road was exciting and full of surprises. He’d convinced himself that in order to survive the life, he’d have to sleep with as many people as he could in order to fight off the inevitable loneliness, eat at every greasy, unclean diner he could find, put on a leather jacket and smooth talk his way into getting whatever he could want and love and care for his car more than he could ever do for himself.

Back then life was so simple yet so hard. He’s glad those days are over, but what their end has brought has been way worse than any street fight or angry spirit that could’ve ever crossed him on a normal day. 

But it’s precisely in the darkest depths of Mordor that he found Cas. Or more exactly, Cas found him. 

The song fades into the next. There are a few seconds of silence before a slower melancholic guitar riff fills the air again. 

**2.- Gallows Pole**

Ah. Right. 

He shuffles uncomfortably in his seat as the disturbing images from Hell fill his head. Over the years he’s been able to forget most of it, but the one thing he’s never been able to forget is the _look_ those yellow eyes got in them every time he begged for mercy, every time a bone broke or a loose limb splattered on the ground. 

Azazel, his very own personal Hangman since he was just four years old, had him right in his grasp, and Dean was so lost within himself. He’d agreed to do the one thing he swore to himself he would never do, the one thing that rid him of the last bits of innocence he could blindingly cling onto. He got off that rack, smiled up at the meat hooks and gingerly took the rusty knife Azazel had been holding under his chin just a few seconds before. Just like that, he turned back to the rack, saw the woman hung up limply right next to him, didn’t even register her pleas to stop, and went to town. He’s pretty damn sure he would’ve turned into a demon soon enough had it not been for the blinding light that’d engulfed him. 

Castiel Angel of the Lord waltzed in, handfuls of silver and gold dripping off those dark wings. Even though he was a little late, he still pulled him out and he still fought tooth and nail to make him understand what faith truly is about.

He never really understood back then, but now, years later, he knows that the angel isn’t just a brother in arms turned family – Castiel is the living, breathing definition of love and faith for Dean. There really is little else that could cross his mind whenever he thinks of those words. 

Language is a funny thing. Words can have an official meaning written on the dictionary, but sometimes there’s words that find their own meaning through our thoughts and experiences. It’s like another language in on itself. All those times he told Cas he was like a brother to him, except the word brother applied to ‘person I love more than anything, including myself’, which is different to Sam’s ‘little brother’ which translates to ‘the one that was supposed to be my little brother but instead turned into the one I raised thanks to my asshole dad but I still love him, just not in the same way as I could love someone else’. Which is all funny because the word ‘love’ barely even finds itself in his vocabulary, being replaced by words like ‘bitch’ and ‘You want a beer?’. 

But now, as the years go by and different Hangmen threaten to take him, Cas always came through with more silver and gold than he could carry, often damning himself in the process. 

The fast rhythm fades into a sad, heavy synth. 

**3.- All My Love**

This song has always meant loss for him. At first it was for his mom; he can still hear the faint sounds of his father crying in the front seat while this song played in the background.

He would picture Mary, dressed in her light pink nightgown, smiling down at him as she tucked him in for the night. His dad would be standing by the doorway with his arms crossed and a warm smile matching Mary’s on his young face. He’d close his eyes and wake up in the backseat of the impala, carefully strapped in on a dark blue car seat. Mary would occasionally turn to look at him, ask him if he was enjoying the ride, and John would make funny faces through the front mirror that’d get him giggling cutely. 

And then something would happen to remind him of the fact that those days were gone forever, all thanks to a fucking demon. 

He’d sent all of his love – what little he had left – to those memories. 

After he met Cas, the entire song got a whole different meaning. Even after Amara brought Mary back, he could listen to this song and the faded image of Mary’s soft smile wasn’t present in his mind. 

It was all about the angel with the intense blue eyes and the stupid oversized coat. The angel that lost _everything_ for the tiny, insignificant bastards him, Bobby and Sam were back then. Dean can’t even begin to imagine just what that might’ve meant for Cas, an ancient, all-powerful creature with the deafening voice and the big black scary wings. Seeing him passing out more and more each day as his power was slowly fading through his connection with Heaven was certainly one of the most painful things he’s ever had to witness. 

And over the course of ten years it was always the same. They would throw themselves in to chase a feather in the wind, not caring about what could happen to themselves but caring an awful lot about what could happen to the other. 

Not to mention all they’ve both lost, together. People, opportunities, doesn’t matter, it all hurts. It hurts so damn much and for a long ass time he thought it would always be like that. The two of them, broken, desperate, and sending all of their love to that which they could never have. 

**4.- Houses of the Holy**

Gotta appreciate the change from the gloomy synth. 

To be honest, the only reason why he added this song to the playlist, other than to lighten up the atmosphere from the previous dark void, is for that one line. 

“There’s an angel on my shoulder, in my hand a sword of gold”. 

He’s sure Cas appreciated the irony. You know, because of the whole ‘I’m not here to perch on your shoulder’ crap from way back, and the fact that he’s literally Michael’s _sword_. Yeah, that’s what could be considered funny by the angel. A true comedic genius for sure. And the nice, relaxed beat of it is appreciated too. 

Cas isn’t much of a classic rock guy. Or a music guy in general. Turns out the whole ‘holy choir’ thing didn’t include harps, or Elton John playing the piano. Guess God wasn’t so big on music early on. Or he’s just that much of an asshole to keep his kids from finding such a great thing. There was, however, a lot of what could be considered as singing and according to the Cas, angels have the most beautiful voices. So beautiful, that only celestial beings and a few ‘chosen ones’ are able to understand all that gibberish that calls itself _Enochian_ hidden in that high-pitched, ear-splitting sound.

 _And now there is no way he’ll ever find out a way to hear Cas singing in his native language._

Now, as he sits in his dark room, he finds the cheery bang of the cowbell the most offensive thing he’s ever heard. Robert Plant’s vocals mock his pain. 

“Why don’t you let me be yours ever truly?” Robert asks. Dean shakes his head. 

“I don’t know.” He answers, a single tear making its way down his sharp cheekbones. “It’s too late now, anyways.”

**5.- Tangerine**

Perhaps, the strongest reason why he never let himself hope was the fact that Cas, even without his wings, always manages to fly away from his grasp. 

The years before the fall, Cas always seemed to have one foot firmly set on Earth while the other levitated over Heaven. He refused to let go of what he considered his responsibility, always willing to bend over for some shit angel just because he felt guilty over the consequences those pseudo apocalypses brought – the ones he took a big part in. Yet something still tied him down to Earth, and it took the form of a hand-shaped scar that clung to Dean’s freckled skin. Neither of them truly admitted to it, back then, but the ‘profound bond’ between them grew stronger and stronger every single day. And once Dean acknowledged it, when Metatron stuck his poisonous hands into the mix, he refused to let anyone know the truth behind those heavy glances he’d throw Cas’ way. In fact, he was determined to fight tooth and nail to make Cas think everything but that.

Hearts were broken, over and over again, but that damn faith that plagued the air between them wouldn’t let the matter rest. 

Then the fall happened, and Cas became human. Dean wanted nothing more than to have Cas stay in the bunker. The room right next to his – a couple rooms away from Sam’s – it was always semi clean and ready to be used by him specifically, though he never openly told himself that that was who he was tending to. And for a moment it looked like Cas really would stay, and the relief was almost tangible. 

Then shit went south, and they abandoned all hope. 

Since then it’s always been an endless cycle of hope crushed by yet another disaster, another pseudo apocalypse that kept them miles away from the other, both physically and emotionally. And Dean felt more than comfortable with using this as an excuse, too. That way, he’d keep himself emotionally closed and secure, only allowing himself to dream of the time that never was when Dean would wake up to the smell of coffee and find Cas sitting in the bunker’s library reading some ancient lore book, occasionally sipping on the steamy cup of coffee next to him. 

**6.- Fool In The Rain**

Still, no matter how many times the angel left, he _always_ came back. Always. Not even death seemed to stop the poor guy, always fighting for those he grew to love and care about. And every time Dean would go through the same emotional roller coaster. 

First, he would get mad because, well, how _dare_ that damn angel leave without _telling_ him. Sure, Cas could take care of himself – most of the time – but still, it was the polite thing to do, right? He always got mad whenever Sam and Dean did something stupid without letting him know first so why can’t it go both ways?

Then he’d move on to being passive aggressive. Sure, the angel wasn’t really forced to tell them _everything_. He wasn’t even forced to stay. In fact, as the celestial being he is – as he never tires to tell them – he’s not forced to do anything. Not really. He could go chill at the bottom of the ocean for all Dean cares about. It never seems to stick inside that thick brain of his that the whole ‘concern’ thing applies for both parties. 

He never really admitted it to himself, but when it took Cas longer than a couple of days to reappear around the cold hallways of the bunker, Dean would get incredibly sad. He’d shut himself down, soaking in his own despair because _what if he doesn’t come back this time?_ The fact that that could always be a possibility was something that set itself heavy in the back of his mind, and it refused to leave him alone no matter how may other pending things tagged along. 

He'd start missing the most stupid, ridiculous things like the cup of coffee that always awaited them in the kitchen every morning, or the sight of that stupid trench coat disappearing behind a bookshelf. Even the damn smell of fresh ozone that he would gently leave behind everywhere he went. 

And then, just when his sulking reached its maximum, the awful sound of metal grinding against metal would fill the bunker, and Castiel would waltz in like nothing happened. Dean would express his relief with fond annoyance, and everything would go back to normal – or as normal as they relationship could be. 

**7.- What Is And What Should Never Be**

Sometimes, usually when more than a few beers got involved, he’d allow himself to think, _what if?_ It never got too far as to really imply something more than- 

It was usually just a nice ‘what if he actually _stays_ this time?’. No more side missions, no more wanting to atone for his ‘failures’, no more heavenly duties. Just them, together, in the bunker, as a _family_. They definitely deserve it after all the shit they’ve been through. They deserve to rest and enjoy life the way they want to. No more death, no more monsters, just endless movie nights and stupid little trips to the farmer’s market. 

But then Dean would scare himself, knowing that if he ever got to enjoy a tiny portion of the fantasy, it’d easily be taken away by the countless enemies he’s made throughout the years. 

Someone or _something_ will always lurk in the dark, ready to pounce. 

And still, if they can make something work, what is to say that it can’t be taken away from them, making it all more painful that the times before. He doesn’t think he’d ever be strong enough to handle that. 

A ray of sunshine breaks through the dark storm clouds in the form of a ‘but what if it actually _works_?’ 

They have been tested, time and time again. They have always beat the odds even when they were made to fight against each other. Even when shit hit the fan, when they lied at the bottom of the line, alone and injured, they never lost the strong connection that held them together. 

If that ‘profound bond’ has been strong enough to last, even through death, what’s to stop it from handling some more hits?

**8.- Stairway to Heaven**

For normal people, the promise of Heaven is the biggest comfort they can be given at times when they realize that the only certainty they could ever have is Death itself. But to those who know the truth, who both literally and figuratively have had a slight taste of what Heaven is like, Hell comes to a close comparison. 

To the Winchesters specifically, the promise of Heaven is nothing but an empty finish line. Over the years they’ve gathered enough enemies to have a true uncertainty of what it’ll be of their souls once they bite the dust for the final time. 

It would be a lie if Dean said he’s at peace with that. Fear is a human emotion based on the unknown, and what could possibly be worse than not knowing where you’re going to end up when you already know intimately each and every one of the options out there?

_Where do Angels go when they die?_

Dean guesses it must be somewhere deep inside Heaven. Knowing God – and shit, isn’t that a fucked up thought? – he’s got them locked up somewhere. If Heaven, Hell and Heaven are for flawed beings, where do ‘perfect, celestial’ being go to? 

It hurts, not knowing where Cas could be right in that second. After all the sins he’s committed, who knows what- 

No. Come on. It’s Cas! That guy can get himself out of anything, right? Maybe he’s found himself a comfy corner in Heaven. Maybe he’s currently sitting at Ellen and Jo’s roadhouse, cold beer in hand, telling their latest stories to the rest of the family. 

Maybe he’s got an open beer sitting snug next to his, waiting for Dean to join him…

**9.- Bron-Y Aur Stomp**

There’s this stupid dream he has every once in a while, similar to that one where his dad is teaching him to drive, and Sammy whines in the back begging for a turn. He smoothly pulls up to their home’s driveway and John clasps his shoulder and smiles widely at him. 

“Perfect landing, son.” 

Mary opens the front door and smiles at her boys, mirroring John, and yells something about Dean finally being able to drive her to the mall. 

In the last couple of years, this dream has been replaced. In this new one, it’s just him, Sammy and Cas.

They’re all retired, living in a small cabin in the middle of nowhere. The entire place is surrounded by tall trees, and a small river runs a few feet away. A true paradise for Wendigo’s, except their guards are so strong the suckers can’t even fathom getting anywhere remotely close to the house, or Baby for that matter. 

Dean finally gave in, and Sam adopted the first stray dog that looked at him. Her name’s Peanut Butter, and she could be considered a Golden Retriever if it weren’t for the weird shape of her ears and tail. 

Even Cas falls in love with her, insisting on feeding her their leftovers after they’re done having dinner on top of the top-brand dog food Sam buys her. The more Dean complains about it, the more Cas insists. And, damn, Dean is screwed because who can say no to the pair of pleading eyes that meet his stone-cold ones?

On cold nights, they huddle up under a blanket to watch stupid movies, and in the summer, they sit outside and fish by the small river, enjoying the calm and peace for once. A dream for sure. 

 

**10.- Achilles Last Stand**

Dreams, hopes, they’re just that. He knows yet his stupid human brain can’t stop making them. No matter how much heartbreak he goes through, it just keeps happening. 

He understands, this is part of what separates humans from other supernatural creatures. He knows these things are what keep him from turning into a monster. He knows losing them takes him to wrapping his hand around a rusty hand and shoving it into a screaming soul’s flesh. 

He knows, he gets it, but that doesn’t stop him from hating it. No matter how childish it makes him feel, he can’t just accept that he’ll never have any of the things that fill his chest with warmth and leave him smiling so wide his face hurts. He doesn’t want to, yet sometimes, when he feels himself slipping into the dark void, when he begins to accept his fate, it’s all he can think of. 

And right now, he’s fallen so hard down the dark void that he doesn’t even realize what’s happening. Somehow, someway, he just keeps dreaming and hoping and being a stupid fucking idiot. 

Maybe it’s the fact that he isn’t completely alone, like he felt when John died, or maybe it’s the fact that this time the pain has been so exponential he’s made himself emotionally numb. Maybe it’s the fact that he still has a living memory in the form of a stupid, blue-eyed kid. 

Maybe it’s the fact that God seems to have left them alone for good. 

 

**11.- In The Light**

Throughout his life, he’s found himself in the shadows. From sleeping in abandoned houses and shitty motels, to now living in an underground bunker, his eyes are so used to calling poor lighting ‘home’. 

Yet, ten years ago, the brightest light reached him. Just as he was in his darkest, this light embraced him and brought him back to life. 

_In the light you will find the road._

And God, had he found the road. Somehow, apocalypse after apocalypse, the Angel had managed to pull him back on the road, better and stronger than before. Strongest when they’re together, weakest when they’re kept apart. 

Now, if only they could’ve shared the road one last time. 

 

**12.- The Rain Song**

This is it. At this point, while making the mixtape, Dean had drank at least five glasses of liquid courage. Or was it seven? Who knows. 

What he did know, is that somehow, someway, he had to get these things out of his chest before it exploded. Dean Winchester isn’t a man of words, everyone knows that. He’s a man of actions. 

Now, tell me, who in their right mind would make their platonic best friend a mixtape as mushy and personal as this one?

Cowards. Cowards did. Because they thought it’d be best to let the clueless Angel try and figure this out on his own without any obvious hint whatsoever. 

Dean openly admitted it. He knew he was a coward, and back then he’d thought he’d be content like that as long as Cas kept the damn tape. He thought his heart wouldn’t be restless at the thought of Cas inserting the thing in his truck, listening to Dean’s spirit pouring his heart out on a lonely trip. 

Of course, Dean had been incredibly stupid. Nothing new there. 

But oh, how he regrets it. He regrets standing like a fool in the rain, waiting for the Angel to come around and understand the silent pleads he’d been screaming in his head. 

His heart twisted in his chest, crying in regret. 

**13.- Thank You**

It looked like an innocent gift, but in reality Dean had given him the one thing he’d been scared shitless to give to someone after Lisa. 

He gave him his heart. 

Because, _damn it to Hell_ , he can’t keep this any longer. 

“Thank you, Cas…” Dean didn’t even bother to reach up and wipe the tears streaming down his face. He didn’t bother cover the rough sobs that shook him to his core. He didn’t even bother to rewind the tape or change it once it was over. 

“Thank you. I love you.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Except now it looks like, even with both Sam and her here with him, he can’t yet find his voice. It doesn’t look like he’s searching for it, either. He’s completely given up, not caring anymore because-

Mary hesitated for what felt like the thousandth time, her fist hovering awkwardly over the door to Dean’s room. You see, the bunker’s doors are quite thick – even more so than what one would expect from an actual war bunker, considering this one has to deal with more than just heavily armed humans. Still, she could’ve sworn she heard a few quiet sniffles coming from Dean’s room earlier. There’s no one else down here (trust her, she checked quite thoroughly) and she doubts her rattled mind could be playing games with her at this point. 

She’d forced herself to wait for the sounds to die down. As much her heart longs to barge in and comfort her son she knows she can’t just force herself onto him like that. From what she’s learned from Dean, he tends to hide his emotions from others. Whether it’s about him fearing other people’s opinions or reactions, she doesn’t know, but she’ll respect her adult son’s privacy. She’s noticed how he’s been doing a lot of that lately, putting all his effort into letting her, Jack and specially Sam, be as oblivious as he could. Of course, that was quite hard considering the dark cloud that followed the boy everywhere he went. 

She also noticed how he gets even worse when she’s around. 

It hurt, when she realized this. They were hanging out, watching a movie together as a family. She’d stood up from her place on the couch to go get more coffee from the kitchen. She was halfway there when she noticed she hadn’t offered the boys a refill of their own and as she started to head back to the makeshift living room they’d built in the library, she noticed a little bit of tension returning to Dean’s shoulders. When her voice spoke from behind him, asking Sam to give her his cup, she noticed the man’s fisted hands twitch painfully where they grabbed fistfuls of his pyjama pants. After grabbing the cup and making her way back to the kitchen, she turned back just in time to see his shoulders relax a tiny bit onto the couch. 

That, and the fact that he still hasn’t said a single word since she came back almost two months ago… 

She’d read John’s journal plenty of times before, at night when the nightmares stole what little sleep she could get. She’d read about her son’s childhoods, their struggles, the little victories, all those details she’d painfully, unfairly missed. There wasn’t much, considering most of the words there related to supernatural monsters, but over the years she’d had with John she liked to think she got good at reading between the lines. 

And those lines suggested horrible, downright abusive behaviours. 

That had hurt too, knowing the horrible lives her sons had lived because of her, the way John had been forced to change into the worst of himself to get a sliver of _closure_. But she wouldn’t let herself read too much into it or she’d end up drinking half the bunker’s alcohol supplies. Instead, she focused on the textual information she could gather. 

In this case, Dean’s selective mutism. Back then, it started right after Mary’s death, but slowly, as time went by, he got over it on his own. It had been a hard battle for John, but once the kid started to mutter short sentences, he shifted his focus on other things. The new hunter didn’t stop himself to think about the fact that this is an anxiety disorder, and it could evolve into something even worse if left unattended. She can’t help but think about how lucky John got that Dean found some motivation in Sam to force himself to get better, otherwise things could’ve turned way different for them. 

Except now it looks like, even with both Sam and her here with him, he can’t yet find his voice. It doesn’t look like he’s searching for it, either. He’s completely given up, not caring anymore because- 

Well, Mary isn’t sure. She’s got a general idea, but she doesn’t want to assume anything. After all, she might be his mother but she’s still a stranger to these deeper aspects of him. She supposes it’s a good thing she can admit this, but it hurts that she can’t do anything about it unless Dean lets her. 

Which is why she’s standing here. It’s been ten more minutes, and the silence behind the door sends a cold shiver down her spine. Finally, she takes a deep breath, holds it, and knocks on the door. 

Nothing. 

She waits another minute before knocking again, harder, and this time she gets a muffled knock back. Her hand goes down to twist the golden knob, and she finds it unlocked. She ignores the nerves that course through her body (seriously, she’s been a hunter for the majority of her life. She’s been through worst stuff, why is talking to her own son so terrifying?) and pushes. 

Slowly, carefully, the door squeaks open. 

Her eyes immediately meet the unmoving lump on the bed. Dean’s lying there, head buried in his pillow showing only one eye glued to the screen of his laptop. He’s got headphones on, though the volume must be down low for him to be able to hear the knock on the door. He reaches a shaky hand from under his covers to pause whatever he must be watching and turns a tired green eye to the figure hovering in the doorway. 

_Right_ , Mary thinks. _Remember why you’re here. Don’t let him push you away_. 

“Hey Dean,” she says, her voice soft and calm. “I’m making some coffee and putting those Jurassic Park movies in the library. Wanna join me?” 

It takes Dean a second to process her words. His eye looks back at the computer screen meeting a pair of animated blue eyes. He frowns, debating with himself, but in the end, he knows he has no choice. She must know by now that something’s very off with him, but he doesn’t want her to worry too much. That’s his job. Or, well, it was… 

His hand reaches out to shut the laptop, and with great effort he pushes himself off the bed. 

His hair’s a big, tangled mess on top of his head. It’s been a while since he’s gotten a haircut, and it would be easy to just grab some scissors and stand in front of the bathroom mirror like he’s always done but he doesn’t think he can stand that long looking at his own reflection. He’s wearing old oversized shirt and sweatpants complete with cheesy pizza socks Sam had bought him as a gag gift last Christmas. 

He looks like a child, sulking because he got sick right before a long-anticipated school trip. Mary’s heart twists in her chest knowing that she missed seeing what that would look like, too. 

The hunter’s smile falters, but Dean doesn’t seem to notice. She swiftly turns on her heels and talks cheerfully to the man following slowly behind her. “You can go set up the projector and do all the technical stuff while I work the coffee machine. Oh, and I think Jack got some chocolate chip cookies, too.”

Dean doesn’t make a sound to let her know he listened, but he knows she understands. There’s this unspoken agreement that no one is forcing Dean to speak, not even Jack, and he’s incredibly grateful for this. They don’t stop talking to him, but they avoid asking questions that require more than a simple shake of the head as an answer, leaving those for texts. And even then, his responses aren’t usually more than a couple words long. 

He stops by the makeshift living room, which consists of a long couch and two armchairs covered in cosy blankets and cheesy pillows. He sighs, noticing how Jack’s royal blue blanket is dragging on the floor. He picks it up, dusts it and gingerly sets it down. 

Mary comes back to him sitting on the couch covered in a black blanket. She sets their mugs and a plate of cookies on the coffee table in front of the couch, finding her own light-grey blanket and wrapping it around her legs. She grabs Dean’s mug and thrusts it to him.

“Black, one sugar. Just how you like it.” Dean barely even spares a glace at her face before gingerly taking the cup from her hands. He nods in her general direction before taking a slow sip of the scalding liquid. He doesn’t even flinch, though, and after another quiet sip he sets the mug back on the table. 

They spend the rest of the day binge watching the Jurassic Park franchise. By the time the newer ones come around, Mary gives up on the hope of hearing Dean complain about how much those suck. She tells herself she doesn’t mind him slowly leaning away from her, or how he keeps fisting his sweatpants under the blanket. 

This lasts for less than six hours.

They’re about to start another film when Dean stands up abruptly, letting the blanket pool behind him as he shuffles to the long hallways of the bunker. 

_He’s probably heading to the bathroom,_ Mary thinks. 

She takes the opportunity to check her phone. There’s a couple texts from Sam and Jack, letting them know about the hunt’s progress. There’s also a picture of Jack standing awkwardly next to a husky, pleading to get a dog like that for the bunker. 

**”He could provide extra protection from monsters!”**

Mary rolls her eyes, responding with a brief but gentle **”We can’t take care of a dog that big in here.”**

Her and Sam exchange a few texts before she notices Dean’s prolonged absence. He should’ve been back by now. 

A worried frown knits her eyebrows together as she stands from her comfy place on the couch and heads to the long hallway. It takes her a minute to find Dean, but when she does she regrets not getting there sooner. 

He’s standing right outside what used to be Castiel’s room, fists clenched by his sides and hot tears running down his face. 

And that’s when it all _clicks_. 

A trembling sob leaves Dean’s lips, which is enough to push Mary towards her son. She wraps her arms around him as another sob leaves him. He doesn’t try to push her away, too exhausted from constantly having to hold himself in, and instead he wraps his strong arms back around his mother, letting everything out. His sobs are loud enough to echo through the empty hallways, but he can’t bother with feeling embarrassed when he’s already feeling many other things. 

He hadn’t even opened the door, but he could still remember what the room used to look like. Mostly empty, if it weren’t for a few old books and weird Knick Knacks the angel liked to collect. It was almost as if he didn’t feel comfortable enough to move in, and Dean constantly feared that the angel would just up and leave, deciding he didn’t want to stay with them, _with him_ anymore. 

But that doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore. 

Dean’s knees buckle, and they slowly sink to the ground. Mary keeps a firm grip on her son, softly rubbing between his shoulder blades as she whispers soft comforts. She knows all of this is useless, there’s no way she can make her son feel better, but at least she can help him get some of that pent-up emotion out of his system. 

She doesn’t know how long they stay there, but by the time Dean’s sobs die down and he slowly, shamefully raises his head from her shoulder, she can’t feel her legs. Still, she gives her son a soft, reassuring smile followed by a firm shoulder squeeze. A soft breath leaves him once he realises that he can’t feel his legs either and the ghost of the tiniest smiles graces his lips. 

They go back to the couch and watch the last couple of movies. The silence between them is no longer uncomfortable, though the unshakable feeling that something between them is missing doesn’t let out. Dean still needs to talk, or, well, as close to talking as he can get. After sobbing onto his mother’s shoulder, he knows he owes her an explanation, even though the reason for his long-foreseen outburst is quite obvious by now. 

So, once the last movie is done, he turns to Mary and really looks at her for the first time since she came back. She looks back at him, effectively hiding her surprise. He sighs and winces once he feels the burn in his throat. Right. Not using his vocal cords for so long is rough. It’s gonna be difficult once he decides to talk again. 

_If_ he decides to talk again. 

He takes his phone out and opens the notes app. He immediately starts furiously typing, wanting to get it over with as soon as possible as to stop himself from backing down. He doesn’t even let himself think about how much detail he goes into. It’s his mom, after all. But he finishes typing and shoves the phone at Mary’s direction, losing the ability to meet her eyes once again. He doesn’t even wait for her to be done reading when he practically jumps off the couch and heads straight back to his room.

This time, his eyes dance over Cas’ door for just a few seconds before he painfully rips them away and drags himself to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally done with this semester!!!! God, uni is hard! I'm excited to keep writing this story!!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, the first thing that comes to mind is someone crying, sobbing loudly into their hands. But why…?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a little bit longer than I thought but!!! It's happening!!!! Everyone stay calm!!!

There’s a distant sound; muffled, quiet, but constant. It’s familiar, yet no matter how hard he tries, he can’t exactly pinpoint where he’s heard it before. It’s strange, almost painful, yet he still searches for it. For some reason, the first thing that comes to mind is someone crying, sobbing loudly into their hands. But why…?

Then he remembers. 

He opens his eyes, yet no matter how many times he blinks he still can’t see anything. Is he being blinded by something? He gently moves a stiff arm up to his face and lets out a small sigh in relief at seeing his own hand before him. He can see, so why…? 

Closing his eyes, the next thing he notices is just how uncomfortable he feels. His vessel – his body – feels restless and sore, his back waiting to scream in agony at the slightest of movements, not to mention the shattered state of his grace and wings. He tries, but the faint glow of his grace doesn’t allow him to determine his current location. His instincts scream at him to get moving, to go back and help because the Winchesters- and Lucifer- and Kelly-

Slowly, sapphire blue irises appear from behind tan eyelids, expecting the big darkness that stands in front of them. He blinks a couple times, praying for his grace to do something, but the scenery (or lack of thereof) remains the same before his painfully human eyes. 

He groans loudly, slightly flinching at the echo of his own voice as he tries to sit up. He notices that the surface he’s lying on is hard and smooth, like a marble floor, slightly cold to the touch. With a frown tying his eyebrows together, he finally pushes himself enough to stand up. His legs tremble beneath him with the effort, but his instincts don’t leave him any other choice. He clears his throat, testing the large echo of the place. 

A big breath later, he talks. “Hello?” 

He waits a few seconds, hearing the echo jump around infinitely. Without a response he speaks again, louder. “Hello?!” 

Suddenly, a violent shiver runs down his spine. The last remnants of his grace twist and turn inside him, and he knows something is not right. He’s being watched by something. As a soldier, unknown means enemy, so without hesitation he speaks again. 

“I know you’re there. I can feel you.”

“Well, hello.”

He turns around only to be met by a copy of his vessel. No, not a copy. A costume. Behind those cold blue eyes sits something… ancient, primordial, and dark – so dark it reminds him of none other than Death herself.

“What are you?” He asks, straightening his stance. 

“Oh, I’m just your friendly neighbourhood cosmic entity,” the thing replies, twisting Jimmy Novak’s face into something Castiel can’t recognize. 

His eyes dance over the other’s figure before asking, “Why do you look like me?” 

The thing’s twisted smile grows as he grasps the lapels of the tan trench coat. “Oh, yes, yes, yes. Well, I show up in my real form and you freak out, rip out your own eyes, etcetera. That would be embarrassing, wouldn’t it? For both of us?”

Freak out? Rip out his own eyes? Just what kind of creature would this be to have Castiel, fallen angel, warrior of humanity, fuck up of the century, so scared? After noticing how the thing has kept its distance from him, he dares unglue his eyes from it in favour of taking in the empty darkness that surrounds them. “What is this place?”

The thing’s eyes glow in angry delight. It walks a few steps closer to Castiel, who cautiously back up from it. “Oh, yes. Excellent question. You see, before God and Amara, creation, destruction, Heaven, Hell, your precious little Earth, what was there?” 

Castiel’s permanent frown deepens. “Nothing.”

It doesn’t care that he steps back, shuffling until there’s only a few inches separating them. Its voice is cold, yet calm and eerily soothing. “Yes. That’s right. Nothing.” The praise reminds him of the way some Angels talked to humans, fake and condescending. “Nothing but Empty. And you’re soaking in it. Angels and Demons, you all come here when you die.”

The smirk that takes over the thing- no, The Empty’s borrowed face sends chills down his spine. Right. He understands now. He turns around, taking in the darkness surrounding them. The familiar feeling of dread crawls up his back and grips his throat in a tight fist. 

He doesn’t know why, but the next question is the first thing that dares escape his dry lips. “Every Angel that ever died is here?” Hope? Fear? Both? Or neither? 

“Yes. Sleeping an endless, peaceful sleep.” The Empty starts walking around him in a circle, tightening Dread’s fist and allowing Anxiety to subtly shake Castiel’s legs underneath him. “You know, I, I was sleeping too.” 

The Empty stops and looks at him in the eye. “Hey, since we’re pals… there’s some something I gotta know. I just gotta ask. Hmmm… Why? Are? You? Awake? Because, fun fact, in all of forever, nothing ever wakes up her. I mean ever, ever. And second fun fact, when you woke up, I woke up and I don’t like being awake. So, what’s up, smart guy?”

Neither of those facts were any fun at all. In fact, they only contributed to the crowd of emotions currently breaking havoc inside Castiel. He pushes them down, though. His instincts taking over for now. He shakes himself and stands a little taller, looking back into The Empty’s eyes. 

“I don’t know.” 

The Empty’s face almost splits in desperation. “Well, think!” 

The command goes straight into Castiel’s warrior brain. His thoughts run faster than the speed of light, producing the first logical thought he can formulate. “The Winchesters – Sam and Dean – they must have made a deal.”

The Empty shakes its head in reprimand. “No, no, no, no, not with me and I’m the only one who has any pull here.” It moves closer to Castiel, threatening. “Not Heaven, not Hell, not G O D himself, so. Think. Harder. Wreck that perky little brain you yours!” 

Castiel jumps back, growling back. “Stay away from me.”

The Empty’s smirk widens. It reaches out and forcibly grips Castiel’s head between its hands. “Ok, fine. I’ll wreck it for you!”

Before Castiel can even think of pulling away, a sharp pain takes over him. He opens his mouth, but it’s unsure of the scream that could or could not have left him. He’s overwhelmed with flashing images of his life, from the moment God named him part of the seraphim to the last beer he shared with the Winchesters. 

Of course, The Empty decides to focus on more recent stuff, which is saying something considering what happened right before he-

Right before he died. 

Since the beginning, Angels used to live without fear of death. Even without God’s presence in Heaven, Angels committed to their duties without a second thought, thinking of themselves beyond petty human characteristics such as emotions and, well, Death itself. 

Castiel almost lets out a gruff laugh at that. 

Now, there’s no need to explain why that was such a huge pile of bullshit. Over the years, tales of the scary Empty that awaited them after their wavelengths reduced their frequency in the universe began to spread amongst the supernatural world. Every such creature capable of intelligent thinking would tell you that Death is a big no no, and that survival was the first and upmost priority. What made this different from human survivalist instincts was the certainty of a bitter end. 

As such, Castiel always knew he’d meet a tragic, violent end much more sooner than later. The life he’d chosen to live as a fallen Angel, the decisions he made throughout his endless pursue of- 

But that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is-

Well, nothing. Because he’s dead.

He’s dead, he’s in the empty and… for some reason he’s awake? He’s awake, and the first thing he heard when he woke up was- 

Another agonizing wave of pain takes over him for a few seconds. When it’s over, he finds himself on the ground, back at the Empty. His entire body feels sore, and it takes him a few moments to get back his bearings. He slowly tries to stand up, but he can only settle for a kneeling position. His voice is raspier than usual when he speaks again. “What did you- What did you do to me?” 

The Empty is standing above him, circling again like a vulture surrounding a decaying corpse. “I read your mind, such as it is.”

Castiel’s head feels heavy, but he still looks up at the divine being with tired eyes. “What do you want?”

“What do I want?” The empty stops moving, looking down at him. “I want you to shut up! I want- hmmm. Having you awake is like a gnat flew right up here-” The Empty gestures to its borrowed head “-and its trapped and its buzzing…” 

Castiel looks up at it, suppressing a smug smirk. “Having me awake causes you pain.”

“If you can’t sleep, I can’t sleep, and I like sleep. I need sleep.”

Castiel huffs. “Then get rid of me.” 

The Empty sends him a twisted smirk. “Oh, I should, should I?” 

The Angel finds strength to stand up, stumbling on his feet as he confidently holds his head high. “Send me back to Earth.” 

“Or, I send you so deep into the Empty that you can’t bother me anymore!” The thing threatens, something insane creeping behind the darkness of its eyes. 

This time, Castiel doesn’t bother to hide the smugness from his face. “Except you know that won’t work or you would’ve done it already.”

The Empty grits its teeth in anger. “Pretty smart, pretty smart… dummy.” 

Confidence grows within the Angel, who takes a steady step towards the being. “Send me back.”

The insane glint in the Empty’s eyes twinkles. “That’s not part of the deal. No, no.” It looks right at him, his expression twisting into something new Castiel can’t identify. “Besides, you don’t want to go back.”

“Yes, I do.” The newfound confidence doesn’t leave Castiel as he speaks. “Sam and Dean need me.” 

The Empty rolls its eyes pitifully. “Oh, save it. I have tip toed through all your little tulips. Your memories, your little feelings, yes. I know what you hate, I know who you love, and what you fear.” It grasps a handful of his dark hair and pulls, towering over him threateningly as if Castiel’s confident talk was nothing to it. “There’s nothing for you back there, no.” It smirks again. “Here, let me show you.”

Another wave of pain fills him, but this time it only lasts a couple seconds before it deems into a distant hum. Instead, a bright light hurts his human eyes, already used to the extreme darkness, and he’s met with a familiar sight. 

The bunker is just as old fashioned and generally dusty as he remembers. The west hallway leading to the dormitories is long, wide enough to let two people walk through comfortably. Yet, here, instead of two people walking he sees them sprawled out on the tiled floor. After spending so much time with them he’s able to instantly tell who they were. 

Mary and… Dean. 

Both hunters, clad in warm flannel, lay on the floor. Mary’s arms are wrapped around her son while Dean’s head sits buried between his hands. Looking closer, he can see the trembles shaking the man to his core, and after concentrating more he’s able to hear the painful sobs that punch their way out of his chest. Then Mary leans back and he’s able to see the painful desperation clouding her usually bright eyes. Castiel’s heart twists inside him. 

Why is Dean crying?

Of course, after years spent by the hunter’s side, they’ve both witnessed the other at their worst. They know what it looks like when things get ugly, yet he doesn’t remember ever seeing Dean like this. He doesn’t want to look away, as much as it hurts, because it’s Dean just what could make him cry like that, but the Empty somehow forces him to look around the scene. And that’s when he sees it. 

They’re sitting right outside of what is supposed to be his room. 

Confusion takes over him, but before he can bring himself to ask, another splitting wave of pain takes over him, and he’s brought back to the Empty’s darkness. 

His hands wrap into fists by his sides, and a deep frown knits his eyebrows together. Why would Dean…? In front of the door to his room? He did see that right, right? Right? He’s pretty sure he’d seen the correct number on the door, and the familiar turn that the hallway did as it ventured deeper into the bunker where Dean and Sam’s rooms were. So, why…? 

Deep down, he knows the answer. But that doesn’t mean he’s ready to accept it because how could that even…? How could Dean even…? He has always been aware of what lies in his heart, specially after he became human and was able to experience those troublesome emotions in a deeper, natural way. That day he’d seen Dean at the gas ‘n sip with his newly human sight, he’d just knew. 

He knew in the way his heart would beat faster and his skin would tingle with the need to be closer, just a little bit closer. He knew in the way he’d seek comfort in listening to his heartbeat, or his breathing, or the gentle vibrations of his voice. He knew in the way his hands ached to reach out, in the way his legs always seemed to keep him glued to the man now that the whole ‘personal space’ thing had apparently become forgotten in the past. He knew in the way others knew, in the way Angels and Demons would taunt him, in Rowena’s, and Jody’s, and Claire’s knowing looks. 

He knew, but that didn’t mean Dean himself knew. After so long, perhaps the man didn’t even want to know. 

But the way he laid sobbing at his bedroom door… could he possibly…?

“Come on, Castiel! Wouldn’t you rather be a fond memory than a constant, festering disappointment?” The Empty’s borrowed hands reached out to lay him on the ground, eerily stroking his head and arms soothingly. “Just lay down, just try to sleep, hmm? Think about it… infinite peace, yes. No regrets, no pain… Kiddo, save yourself.”

A deep growl escaped Castiel’s throat. “I’m already saved.” He forcibly turned to the thing, pushing it back as he dragged himself back up. “You can prance, and you can preen, and you can scream and yell and remind me of my failings but somehow I’m awake and I will stay awake and I will keep you awake until we both go insane.” A determined frown settles between his eyebrows. “I will fight you and fight you forever. For eternity.”

The Empty shakes its head, but Castiel can see its resolve leaving it. “No, no.” 

“Release me.” He looks down at the Empty and takes another step closer, eliminating the space between them. “Release. Me.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just like that, an angel’s funeral comes to an end, and a phoenix rises from the ashes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end!!! I'll be writing a cute, fluffy epilogue to make up for all the pain I had them go through :,) For now I would like to thank every single person that supported this story, whether you left kudos or a nice comment, I appreciate it all so much!!!!

The first thing he notices is the warmth of the sun on his face. He feels like a new-born taking their first breath at the fresh scent that fills his nostrils. His lungs expand in his chest almost painfully, causing a wave of raspy coughs to escape through his throat into the outside world. Birds sing into his ears, grass nestles his tired body and he might as well be new-born for it is the first time in a long time that he truly feels alive.

He opens his eyes, immediately regretting it as an onslaught of light and contrast sting his deep blue eyes. It takes a full minute of violent blinking before he can make out more than shapes and shadows. He wipes tears from his abused eyes and just sits up on the grass for a long time. He doesn’t care much for time, content to sit there and catch his bearings in the middle of an unknown field as memories slowly sip back into his head. It surprises him how natural it seems to be, but by some miracle him, Castiel, just fought The Empty and _won_.

He won.

A rare, big, gummy smile lays snuggly on his face, and he doesn’t make any effort in holding back the laughter that shakes its way out of his chest. A sudden urge has him sitting up straight, ditching the trench-coat and dress shoes, soaking in the _life_ surrounding him.

In the past he’s been aware of the different forms life takes on Earth; from humans to flowers, mountains, fish, bees, all different creatures, all alive in their own ways. At this exact moment though, for the first time ever he thinks he truly understands what life itself feels like, and if the feeling continues to overwhelm his this much he fears he might become addicted.

Yet once his racing heart calms down and he lets his eyes scrutinize the sight around him, he sees it. In the green of grass in the leaves on trees, that candy apple green shade that has become his sole reason to fight. Dean.

He has to go find Dean.

His heart jumps in his chest, a slight flush covers his cheeks, a slight layer of sweat covers the palms of his hands and he knows – recognizes from his previous experience as a human – that this is nothing but the purest form of love a life can manifest for others, and he gets to experience it all thanks to him.

Just as fast as he kicked them off, he puts his shoes back on, drapes the dirty trench-coat over his back and messily shoves the wrinkled blue tie inside one of his coat pockets. Once he’s set, he breaks into a sprint. Judging by the sun’s position, it must be a little past midday. If he’s lucky enough, he might reach the bunker before dinner time.

Except he has no idea of where the Hell The Empty dropped him and now that he really thinks about it, well,

…it seems like The Empty returned him without his grace.

Now that he thinks about it, he hadn’t bothered to check the status of his grace. Before he died, it’d been weak, almost as weak as it had been during those last few days of the first Apocalypse. But he’d still been able to use it enough to feel confident in his task of protecting Kelly and Jack. Now, though, he’s sure of it.

He’s human again.

Realizing this, his desperate jogging slowly slows to a stop. It’s very unfortunate that he can’t just close his eyes and figure out the shortest route back to the bunker, but he can’t help the giddy, weightless feeling that spreads over his chest. Not only is he alive again, but he’s free – from responsibility, from Chuck’s curse, who knows? He just _is_ – and he has to sit back down on the grass in order to catch himself again.

He stays there for a few minutes before the tell-tale sound of crunching grass brings him back to the present.

~~~

The first thing he notices is the cold air blowing into the sweaty, moist skin of his face. The familiar rumble of the bunker’s air vents and the sounds of unknown machinery going on and off have become a rather comforting background noise, much better that a silence where evil thoughts and memories can crawl up unannounced and unrestrained.

It takes him a moment to remember how he ended up in his room, but as soon as he does, he feels the burn of bile slowly crawling up his throat. In record speed he throws the thin blanket that had been thrown over him in favour of jumping off the bed and hovering over the sink that sat at the other side of the room. It took all of his willpower not to empty the contents of his stomach, but it came close.

He takes a few deep breaths, almost impressed at the old sink’s ability to hold his death grip as well as most of his weight.

Once the room stops spinning, he reaches over to his bedside table and haphazardly uncaps a bottle of water before drinking it all in one go. His throat cries out at the refreshing feeling and relieved tears gather around the corners of his green eyes. He’s panting harshly by the time a soft knock interrupts the humming background noise. He keeps his back to the door as it slowly swings open.

Mary is met with a better sight than she’d been expecting. She takes a deep breath before placing a slight comforting smile on her face.

“Dean? I brought you breakfast…” She says, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her ‘breakfast’ consisted on leftover pizza from three nights ago as well as a mug full of steaming fresh black coffee (thank (not)God she learned how to use Sam’s fancy coffee machine). She knows it’s not the healthiest, but she also knows her son has had worse.

She places the tray on the man’s desk, careful to move away the disarray of crumpled up sheets of paper and spare phones. She takes the coffee mug and hands it to Dean who had moved to sit by the edge of his messy bed. He doesn’t meet her eyes, embarrassed of what had happened the previous night, but he still grunts in appreciation before taking a sip of the scalding coffee and sighing at its comforting punch.

Mary doesn’t bother to hold back as she reaches out to ruffle her son’s golden-brown locks. The man freezes at the unknown contact but relaxes back into his curved posture once he realises how achingly familiar the gesture is. She used to do that back when he was just a child with longer hair that John insisted on cutting out into a buzz cut. Back then, Mary would just roll her eyes at her husband and continue petting her son’s hair.

With a soft sigh she stands up and walk out, telling him to call her is he needed something. She’d acted as if nothing had happened, and Dean was incredibly grateful for it. He’d been aching to tell someone the truth, to get the words off his chest, and it’d been incredibly painful to do just that. Now that he thinks about it, the throbbing pain has been reduced to a dull throb. Maybe his body is too tired to feel the pain, or maybe this whole ‘talk about your feelings’ thing isn’t as much bullshit as he thought it was. Either way, he finally feels like he can breathe, if only a tin bit better than before.

And then, his phone rings.

It’s his personal, the one laying on his bedside table hanging from the charger cable. He peaks at the screen and nearly jumps when he sees Sam’s name displayed on it. He really, _really_ doesn’t want to talk right now. He debates whether he should go search for Mary but quickly decides against it, knowing this could be an emergency. And so, with a long sigh, he answers the phone.

“Sam,” the gruff sound that leaves his throat doesn’t even sound like a word and he curses his disused vocal chords.

“Dean, you ok?” Sam asks, though he already knows what’s going on.

Dean grunts back in answer.

Sam takes a few seconds to evaluate the grunt, already fluent in ‘Dean’, before speaking again, not bothering with addressing any of the uncomfortable issues as well as not really having time for a nice, brotherly heart-to-heart. “Ok so, Jack left a few minutes before saying he had to pick someone up. I’ve been calling him but he’s not picking his phone.”

Dean grits his teeth. ‘ _Damn kid will never learn not to run off like that_ ’, he thinks. He gets up, looking down at his filthy sweatpants and deciding that its time for a change of clothes and maybe a shower.

“We were just getting in the Impala since we managed to finish the case last night, so we were going to visit a museum we saw on the way here before going back to the bunker.”

Dean grunts again. _‘You don’t sound very worried about the kid’_.

“I uh- I know I should be more worried but I guess Jack’s already been to the worst places imaginable, he can handle himself. I’m calling you because of what he said before he left. He’s picking someone up, as in, taking them back to the bunker.”

Shit.

“I’ll be there in a few hours. I already sent mom a text about what’s going on.” And with that, the line goes dead.

Great.

Dean considers a shower, but knowing the kid can fly, he could get here any second now. And so, he settles for spraying deodorant all over his body and running his hands over his messy hair before running out to search for Mary.

He finds her in the War Room loading up three guns. Once her eyes meet his she smiles gently at him and hands him one of the guns. He takes off the safety click and looks around, waiting for the bunker’s alarms to go off.

Time slows down as his heart beats violently in his chest. A feeling of dread climbs at the back of his neck and he almost, _almost_ bows his head to mutter a prayer. Because even now, after everything that’s happened, after feeling like he can finally come to accept the cruel reality he finds himself in, he still turns to look for _him_.

It twists in his chest, the familiar yet still unknown feeling of warmth and ache that follows every thought that barely manages to brush the surface of what he is to him. His hands tremble, and he has to lower it as naturally as possible to keep Mary from deeming him unable to fight. He’s not sure of what he’d do if things turn sour, but he knows two hunters are better than one no matter how emotionally crippled they are.

Another couple of seconds tip by and Mary shuffles her weight from one foot to the other impatiently.

“Maybe Sam heard wrong,” she says, eyeing the entrance to the library.

Dean shakes his head. No, ‘ _he wouldn’t have called like that if he’d thought he’d misheard_ ’. Besides, he’s the one that spends most time with that kid, if anyone can even begin to understand the kid’s behaviour, it’s him.

Which is why Dean isn’t surprised at the sound of invisible wings moving through the still air of the bunker as Jack appears at the top of the stairs that lead to the exit. No, he isn’t surprised at that at all.

What he’s surprised about, though, is the sight of an all-too familiar dishevelled, filthy tan trench coat. Wrinkles accentuate the lines of dirt that adorn its sides. Black, ill-fitting slacks and once-upon-a-time white dress shirt peak from underneath it, a small tease to the most beautiful picture Dean’s ever seen.

And so, Castiel’s eyes land of Dean’s equal state of disarray, with a pair of joggers that used to be light grey, a maroon (or is that red?) shirt clinging to random sweat-covered expanses of that strong torso. Freckled arms and neck standing crooked and shaken, pale and almost sickly, before an overwhelming set of candy apple greens shoot warmth all over Castiel’s now damp figure.

Just like that, an angel’s funeral comes to an end, and a phoenix rises from the ashes.


End file.
